


She Walks in Beauty

by Catherine_Medici



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, High School, Lolita, Power Imbalance, Statutory Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 74,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5057407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catherine_Medici/pseuds/Catherine_Medici
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen years ago, before the FBI, before the Post Office, Liz was a high school student in Nebraska. Smart and passionate with a rebellious streak, she finds herself hanging with the wrong crowd. When Liz is caught stealing, her adoptive father makes a desperate call to the man who entrusted him with his daughter. In response to Sam’s concern, Raymond 'Red' Reddington appears incognito at the diner Liz works at after school in order to get her measure. Attracted to her innocence, he stays in town. An AU exploring a dark and selfish Red, a primer on what love is not. Trigger Warning - underage sex, sexual abuse of a minor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 15 there's still time for you  
> Time to buy and time to choose  
> Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this  
> When you only got a hundred years to live  
> ~ "100 years, Five for Fighting"

 

* * *

 

She’d recognized him immediately. He had changed so much in the last fourteen years that the grainy photos hadn't triggered her memory. But his face in person, in the box right in front of her. She could never mistake that face, that expression.

She walked the steps down toward him as the secure walls of the box wound themselves back, leaving him seated in the middle of that empty space. Cuffed and waiting for her.

Her mind flashed back to fifteen. Braces just removed and that dreaded pimple on her chin that kept coming back no matter what she did.

She’d been a bundle of insecurities, self doubt and angst. A straight A student before that year. Her dad had been so proud, it was embarrassing, constantly talking to his friends about his ‘butterball’ and her grades, her extracurricular achievements. And then she’d met Tricia and Cara, the girls with the worst rep in school. They’d taken her under their wing and suddenly she was skipping class, smoking in the parking lot at the mall and stealing for those girls.

She’d become good at it. They’d taught her how to lift anything she liked. Cara’s boyfriend stole cars and taught her the basics of that too. The basics was all she needed, she soon outstripped their abilities. She was so good, she’d never brought any attention to them from the cops.

Then Tricia got caught trying to steal a fucking scented candle.

A _scented candle_ for god's sake. Lizzie and Cara had been with her. The cops had taken all three girls home, only advising Sam that he should look at the company his daughter kept.

No, they’d reassured him. She hadn’t been stealing but these girls were bad news. She was clearly a good kid, they'd hinted. Maybe time for some parental interference at school?

Sam had been so disappointed. She regretted that now. But back then, she’d been a hateful ball of fury. She hated Sam, hated her teachers, hated everything.

She remembered it as though it were yesterday. How it all started.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**~ 1999 ~**

She slammed her bedroom door, uttering those dreadful words. “I hate you,” she screamed in outrage.

He was worried. She’d come down for dinner later that evening, sullenly refusing to speak until he prodded further.

“Lizzie, your Aunt June says she’d be glad to have you at their cabin for the weekend,” he ventured, unsure how to deal with his teenage daughter. Nothing had prepared him for this.

“I hate Aunt June,” she spat. “She’s old and boring and her food is disgusting.” She wrinkled her nose, illustrating her disgust with his suggestion. She refused to eat her own dinner. “I’m on a diet,” she said, scoffing at his surprise and concern.

She’d retreated into her bedroom after the dinner that she’d barely touched and he had gone to his study to think.

That weekend was awful for Sam. She stayed in her room the entire time, on the phone, whingeing bitterly about their parents with Tricia and Cara.

Sam had tried to talk to her. “Lizzie, are you stealing?” He asked tentatively.

“So what if I am? What are you going to do? Call the cops on me? Your record isn't squeaky clean,” she threw back at him.

He frowned. “I made some mistakes that I learned from, that doesn’t mean-”

“ _God_ , dad just leave me alone okay?” She stalked off, down the hallway.

“I just don't understand, you have an after school job, but if you need more money…” he followed her down the hall, hopeful for an explanation. She slammed the door in his face.

He put it off all weekend. He preferred not to do it but he’d promised. If there were any problems, he would call. So he made a reluctant phone call on the Sunday night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lizzie waited tables at a local diner. She liked working there. She’d always been good at what she did, it really didn't matter what it actually was. School work, her job, stealing cars, she put her mind to it and she never really failed. The customers loved her and she always had plenty of tips. Her sweet smile and wide blue eyes helped but she was also a stickler for service, a conscientious and attentive worker. She’d won employee of the month more than once.

Which is why it was such a shock when she ran into a customer that afternoon who could not be pleased.

“What can I get you,” she asked perkily, a friendly smile on her face.

He raised an eyebrow at her, raking her from head to toe with a steady look. “I’ve been waiting for,” he glanced down at his watch, “Three minutes and forty five seconds.”

“Oh,” she faltered. It really wasn't _that_ long. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“It’s just an observation, Lizzie,” he almost snapped.

“Uh, how do you know my name?” She queried shakily.

He flicked the name badge pinned to her chest with his finger, rolling his eyes. “Keep up, you seem like a smart girl. There’s no need for your mind to become indolent, now is there?”

“I’m not-,” she bit back the rest of her sentence, plastering a false smile on her face. “What can I get you, sir,” she asked again, sweetly.

“I’ll have the cheese burger, with the meat patty cooked rare, not medium, not well done, rare. You understand? No onion, but I also want a small serving of fries. Half of whatever your usual serving is. And a slice of pineapple. I’ll also have an iced tea, thank you.”

She blinked. “Pineapple?”

“Yes, you know it's that tropical, spiny, yellow fruit? My goodness, count yourself lucky you didn't seek employment in a fruit shop.”

“I know what a pineapple is,” she declared, outraged at his manner.

He was glancing around the diner now with some interest. He looked back at her after a moment. She was just standing there in front of him, not moving back to the kitchens despite having his order.

He looked down his nose at her, his eyes widened in mock confusion. “Are you expecting an invitation to dine with me? I’m afraid that's not happening today. Later perhaps,” he said cryptically.

She shuttled back to the kitchens, offended and confused by this man. What could she have possibly done to put him offside? She was curious. He was attractive, for an older man. His dark blonde hair was cropped close to his head, his skin smooth and tan. There was something about his mouth. It wasn't just the well defined, sensuous lips, the corners of his mouth held creases of good humor and the ability to laugh at himself. He certainly hadn't indicated that in their short exchange though.

She brought his order out with slight trepidation, careful to place his food and drink exactly so on the table.

“Twenty four minutes and fifteen seconds,” he commented, almost gleefully.

She was beginning to become resentful now. She didn't let it show though. “I’m so sorry that we kept you waiting. Can I get you anything else?”

He eyed her for a moment. “No, thank you, that will be all.”

She walked away, slightly off kilter. What was it about this guy?

She returned behind the counter, grabbing a washcloth, wiping down the surface of the green, Formica counter top.

She watched as Katie, the other waitress on shift at that moment brought out plates of food to her own customer's tables. Lizzie's strange customer looked up, watching Katie go by. He appeared to be enjoying Katie's assets. Lizzie frowned, unsure why that would bother her. Katie was twenty two, tan and ash blonde, a knock out. Every male customer’s wet dream. She didn't really envy the attention the poor college student garnered. Katie was doing her post grad, working two jobs and had a small baby in daycare. The woman was amazing but if you'd judged her by the open mouthed drooling stares at the diner, you wouldn't have received a fair impression at all.

It wasn't right and she felt outrage on Katie’s behalf often enough. The frown was still on her face when he looked over at her. She wiped the creases from her face, mortified to find a customer catching her out staring at him, with a disgruntled expression on her face, no less. He waved her over.

Damn. He probably wanted to complain.

She moved over to his table hurriedly, uncomfortably aware that he must know that the smile on her face was fake by now. "Can I get you anything else?" She asked, putting a little more pep than usual into her voice.

He pursed his lips. "The iced tea isn't sweet enough. Please fix it," he said, handing her the highball glass filled with ice and amber liquid.

She blinked. Alright. Fussy. Not unexpected. She took the glass. "Of course," was all she said, retreating to the kitchen, placing the drink on a counter and rinsing her hands briefly. She'd bet any money the iced tea was fine. She took a secret sip. Yep, absolutely fine. She sighed. She had two hours left of her shift to go. She hoped he'd eat his burger and go. He looked like he belonged in a fancy restaurant really. Why didn't he go somewhere else in his out of place three piece suit and tie, she thought irritably.

She returned with his sweetened drink, silently placing it in front of him with a smile.

"Did you wash your hands before you sweetened it?"

"Yes," she responded, somewhat triumphantly.

He smiled. "Very good."

He spent the next hour sending her fetching and carrying. The iced tea was too sweet now, the burger pattie wasn't cooked to his liking, his silverware wasn't clean enough. She could see Katie eyeing her sympathetically from her corner of the diner. The chef was ready to bite her head off by the last time she returned his meal. She took a large number of breaths in the walk-in freezer, trying to keep calm in between serving her other customers.

This guy was _not_ leaving her a tip. She just needed to grit her teeth and get through it.

She was so sure of herself, that it was quite a surprise when she collected the cash from his empty table. He'd left a fifty percent tip. Well, that was unexpected. She shrugged. Alright then, at least that experience had been worth it.

She didn't think about him again, finishing up her shift, wiping down tables, far too busy to dwell on one difficult customer even if he had been unusual. And generous.

But the next afternoon he was there again. He ordered the same thing. This time, she made sure the iced tea was sweeter than they usually made it, the burger cooked the way he'd asked for it the previous day, and she surreptitiously examined the tableware for any marks as she took his order.

He sent the drink back. Too sweet. The burger wasn't right either and this time there was a spot on the floor that was irritating him. Someone could slip. Could she clean it?

She silently pulled the mop and bucket out, swirling it around the floor, hoping her irritation wasn't obvious. Picking the mop and bucket up after she'd cleaned, she was stopped in her tracks by his voice.

"Don't forget to wash your hands," he called.

She set her back, continuing to the kitchens. She almost, almost didn't wash her hands. But no, that wasn't fair to her other customers and she was good at her job, she wasn't letting this jerk ruin it for her.

He was back the next day. And the next. And into the next week, he continued to come into the diner, ordering the same thing every time, each afternoon finding some fault, real or imagined, it didn't matter, there was always something. She began to dread her job. This had to change. She considered the problem. Maybe if she asked him about himself? Customers liked to talk about themselves.

So a week and a half into his regular visits, she approached his table, taking his order smilingly. This time she added conversation. "So," she gestured to his suit, "You always dress so nicely. Are you a lawyer or something?"

He looked at her contemplatively. "I have some experience with the law," he answered, not offering anything else.

"Oh, okay," she said awkwardly, standing there for a moment, feeling stupid. She half turned to go.

"You're a student," he stated, voicing a fact, not a question.

"Yes, I'm in high school," she said, turning back to him.

"Do you enjoy it?"

"I guess."

"You guess? You make guesses on your feelings toward your schooling? It's not something you have a good idea about?"

Her lips firmed. She took a breath through her nose. "I think I must have upset you, I'm sorry. I'll go and give your order to the kitchen," she said woodenly.

He stuck his hand out, taking her wrist. “You haven't upset me.” He let go of her wrist almost immediately. It was lucky that he had, too. Pauly, the owner of the diner, didn’t tolerate his staff being touched. He was a good boss to work for, on the whole.

For some reason, his grip on her wrist hadn't upset her like it normally might have. He’d barely touched her, a light, reassuring thumb briefly caressing the scar on her wrist and instead of disgust and anger, she’d felt an odd jolt.

“That’s good to know.” She smiled. “I’ll just go and give the kitchen your order.”

She’d served his food with no problems, smiling all the while. She had thought she’d reached a breakthrough with him. He wasn't so bad, just particular, that was it. He liked her after all, or he wouldn't have troubled to let her know she hadn’t upset him.

And that touch. The electricity that had bounced from his skin to hers.

She’d dated. She’d had her first kiss the year before. A boy from tennis. He’d been competitive with her, seeking to outdo her and she’d beaten him mostly. And then she’d kissed him by the lockers. She’d instigated it and regretted it shortly after. She didn't like his saliva, his tongue had felt like a slug in her mouth. She didn't know what to do with her own tongue, had been grossed out by the experience. She’d pretended to like it though. He’d taken her to a movie afterwards but there hadn’t been any spark and she was too busy with school, her job and tennis to worry about a boy that she wasn't that interested in.

She hadn’t known what they actually meant when they talked about chemistry in books and Hollywood, that special spark. Until she felt the shock of attraction lance through her at the older man’s touch. She leaned against the sink dreamily, forgetting the dishwasher that she should have been packing.

Katie came into the kitchen. “Liz, I’m sorry, your fussypants is asking for you,” she said with a grimace.

That woke her up. “Is he okay? He’s not annoyed, is he?”

"Sorry, love, I think he wasn’t happy to have to ask,” said Katie.

She rushed out of the kitchen, breathlessly approaching his table. “I’m so sorry, I was-”

“Isn't this your section?” He inquired crisply.

“Yes, but it's a small diner and…” she faltered at his unimpressed look.

“I sit in your section because I like your service.”

“I’m...sorry?” She said, unable to hide the annoyance in her voice. This was unbelievable. If he liked her why was he so _mean_.

“I’d like another iced tea please,” he said mildly.

“You-oh okay,” she stuttered. He’d never finished his iced tea without demanding changes to it. Was he messing with her? She took his empty glass and refilled it, returning to his table.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her and she felt a warm glow spread across her cheeks and neck. God she hoped she wasn't _blushing_. How medieval would that be?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things progressed in that vein for weeks. He came in, ordered the same thing, and would talk to her briefly as she took his order. He always seemed to find out more about her than she did about him.

“What do you like about school the most?”

“What do you want to do when you finish school?”

“How long have you worked here?”

And she found herself sharing things with him unasked. She told him boastingly that she was good at tennis. So good that she’d made it to the junior state finals. She hadn't won anything but she’d been so pleased to get there. She told him about her dad, Sam, how he was proud of her wanting to get a job, he encouraged a strong work ethic, how he could occasionally embarrass her. He liked to hear about Sam, chuckling with her as she told a story about him now and then.

He had stopped sending her back and forth to the kitchen, content to talk with her over his order. As long as she made herself available in her section when he was there, he seemed happy.

“Your boyfriend is here,” said Noel, the kitchen hand, a little snidely one day after about a month of his visits.

She stopped at that, frowning at him. “I don't even know his name,” she said defensively. Noel had asked her out months ago. He was eighteen and had dropped out of school. She’d said no.

But she realized she _didn't_ know his name. He knew so much about her life, her family but she didn't even know his first name.

“Lizzie,” he said with a warm smile as she approached his table to take his order.

“The usual?” She asked.

“You know what I like,” he said easily, and it was an innocent phrase but a tingle went down her spine.

She wanted to know what he liked.

“Sure,” she paused, “You know I’ve realized you’re a regular now and I don't know your name. That’s really lame of me, I’m sorry I haven't asked before.”

To her surprise, he didn't look happy at this. He appeared uneasy. “Raymond,” he said, "My name’s Raymond.”

****  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Run and tell all of the angels  
> This could take all night  
> Think I need a devil to help me get things right  
> ~ "Foo Fighters, Learn To Fly"

* * *

 

Lizzie closed her locker and sighed. She had Sociology for her next class and she was in an argument with her teacher about her assignment. The class had been given the task of choosing individual topics to do an oral presentation on. She wanted to present on human sex trafficking but her teacher had shut her down. Apparently talking about sex in any capacity was a big taboo.

She made her way down the hall, bumping into Cara.

“Hey! Lizzie, Wanna hang out at the mall after school?” She hooked her arm companionably through Lizzie’s. It was the last class of the day and they shared it.

Lizzie groaned, not really meaning her regret, if she was honest with herself. “I can’t, I’ve got work.”

Cara grimaced. “You’re always working these days. What’s so wonderful about that crappy old diner? You should get a job at the mall.”

She shifted on her feet, wanting to tell her, but what if she come across as an idiot? How was she supposed to say it anyway? She had a crush on an older guy. Not even a college guy, like a guy old enough to be her father. He was so cute and when he smiled at her...God. And he probably wouldn't look at her twice that way. Not when he had people like Katie at the diner to look at.

She remembered uncomfortably that Cara had broken up with her boyfriend recently. Cara was gorgeous, stick thin with high cheekbones and sleek brunette hair.

Cara didn't have pimples. She didn't have bad hair days. And she certainly didn't have a giant scar on her wrist.

No, she’d keep Raymond to herself for a while longer, she decided.

"Cara," she asked suddenly, "weren't you seeing a guy in college last year?"

Cara narrowed her eyes. "Did you say yes to Noel after all? Lizzie, you can do better than the kitchen hand at that old diner," she said confidently.

"God no," she scoffed, "I just...wondered what it'd be like, that's all."

"U-huh. Who is he? Does he work at the diner or is he a customer?"

"No one, there's no one. Just a random thought."

She probably should have kept her mouth shut.

Sociology came and went really quickly. She tuned out most of the class, wondering if Raymond would notice if she wore make up that afternoon. She didn't usually bother. But she found herself eying Cara's schoolbag, wondering if she'd lend her some lipgloss and mascara.

She ended up asking her friend, prompted by some curious demon that wanted to see if she could make Raymond notice her.The older girl had given her a hard look but handed over the contents of her make up bag and helped her apply some foundation and blush in the school bathroom.

"So, you're not telling, huh? A college guy even. I'm impressed, little Lizzie," Cara teased.

"What? No," she said anxiously, "I just think I should probably start wearing make-up."

“Well, we should go to the mall this weekend, pick up some free samples,” she said wiggling her fingers, suggestive of a five fingered discount.

Lizzie winced. Raymond came in on Saturday afternoons and stayed longer than on weekdays. It was her favorite day of the week. “I can't sorry Cara, I’m working.”

Cara frowned, snatching her make up bag away. “You’ve been avoiding us since Tricia got stung by the cops. Think you’re too good for us now, is that it?”

“What? No! I don’t think that at all. I’m just trying to make some money,” Lizzie protested.

“You could make money a lot easier than you are now, you know. You’re crazy good at it. You could probably just lift a couple of wallets each week,” she laughed.

Lizzie felt like she’d just had a glass of cold water to the face. It had been fun before, like learning to juggle at summer camp. It was a challenge, it tickled her to show people how well she could do it. Stealing clothes or makeup from the mall or some rich guys insured BMW just seemed different from stealing someone’s wallet. More personal, a little less shades of grey. It made her uncomfortable. “I like my job. I like people, you know?”

Cara eyed her speculatively. “Sure, but I’m guessing it's one particular person you like. I’ll tell you what, little Lizzie, you’re getting boring and if you keep this up, we’ll just kick you from the group. We barely see you anyway.” With that, the other girl scooped up her bag and left the bathroom, leaving Lizzie standing in front of the mirror with a worried expression on her face.

 

* * *

 

She breezed into the diner that afternoon, her concerns about her friends melting away with the thought of seeing Raymond again at the forefront of her mind. It was a bit like waiting for her favorite TV show to come on when she’d been little. That thrill of anticipation in her belly, a happy golden glow spreading throughout her, the bite of impatience as time seemed to drag on forever. It was the best feeling.

She saw him at his usual table and approached in their same routine.

“Lizzie,” he beamed at her.

She smiled, maybe a little too enthusiastically. “Hi Raymond, just the usual today?”

“Yes thanks. How was school?”

She rolled her eyes. “Having some issues with a teacher, but it’ll be fine.”

“Really? What kind of issues?”

“My rights to free speech are being imposed on,” she said promptly and then she wilted a little under his raised eyebrow. Maybe that had been a bit melodramatic.

“I...see.”

“Well,” she said defensively. “I want to do a presentation in my Sociology class about a really important topic that no one really talks about in school. And my teacher has banned me from talking about it. I just feel like we never get to talk about the hard stuff, the stuff that matters, you know?”

“So what’s the topic?” He asked, looking interested.

It was all the encouragement she needed. “Human sex trafficking. There’s some inspirational people doing really tough work trying to eliminate it. You wouldn't believe the battle they've been having. There’s a UN Aid worker right now lobbying to have the government pass a Victims of Trafficking and Violence Protection Act. And no one talks about this at school because we’re not allowed to talk about anything with the word sex in it. But this is so important,” she said passionately.

He looked a little stunned at her tirade. “I suppose you mean Floriana Campo?” He inquired pensively.

“Yes!” She squealed, forgetting herself and sitting in the chair across from him. “You know about her? Isn't she amazing? I’m so inspired by the things she’s done with the UN. If I don’t go into criminal justice after college, I’d love to work for the UN.” She leaned forward, “Hey!” She said, her train of thought derailing a little with all the eagerness of her youth. “Do you have any advice for me? Are you a human rights lawyer?”

He cleared his throat. “I think you might have misunderstood. I’m not a lawyer, as such. I have a lot of experience and...background with the law though. I’m a businessman, a freelance broker. My area of expertise requires a certain ability to amass and retain general knowledge and sift through what matters and what doesn’t. Fortunately, that's a talent I possess."

“Oh,” she said, disappointed. She had briefly imagined her crush to be some sort of crusader for human rights. That was silly really. A private businessman was far more plausible given the amount of free time he seemed to have to come and sit in the diner every afternoon.

He chuckled. “Have I disappointed you?”

“No! Not at all,” she said quickly. “I think it’s amazing that you know about Floriana Campo. You’re the first person I’ve talked to who has heard of her. That’s amazing, you’re amazing.” Her words stumbled over each other before she could stop the verbal drivel coming out of her mouth. It would have been embarrassing enough on its own but she felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck in horror as she heard mocking laughter from the table behind her.

“That’s amazing, you’re amazing,” repeated Tricia in a mock baby voice from the other table. Raucous laughter followed her impression of Lizzie.

She would have felt quite happy if she could just die then and there. Let the whole earth swallow her now please, she thought. She stood stiffly. “I’m so sorry, I got carried away. I’ll take your order up to the kitchen now.” She caught a brief look at his concerned expression as she turned to go but she didn't stop to explain.

It was pretty obvious she’d made a complete fool of herself.

She passed Katie in the kitchen. She must have looked a mess because the blonde woman stopped in her tracks. “Liz, what's wrong?”

"I don't feel well. I need to go home, can you cover my tables just for today?"

Katie gave her a knowing look. "I've seen those girls before. Don't you hang out with them?"

"Yeah, yeah, I mean they won't mind if I don't serve them, they're not here to see me," she stuttered.

"What about your....regular? Won't he be upset? He's so particular about you being the one to serve him."

“He’ll understand. If I have a stomach bug I’d hate to pass it to anyone,” she said briefly, folding her apron up and heading to the back door of the kitchen. “Thanks Katie, I’m sorry!” She called out as she left.

She went home and cried. Her dad wasn't home yet so she had privacy to be as noisy as she liked. She sobbed pitifully, her head buried in her pillow. She was so stupid, so dumb, she thought, hating herself. Why did she feel this way? How could her friends make fun of her like that? She traced the starry night patterns in her blue bedspread dolefully. She would have to go to school tomorrow and face Tricia and Cara and the girls they’d been with.

Her so called friends.

 

* * *

 

Walking into school the next day felt like the toughest thing she’d ever done. She’d avoided her dad that night, telling him she’d eaten at the diner. But now there was no more avoiding anyone.

They were waiting for her at her locker.

“There she is,” said Cara gleefully. “You didn’t tell us you had a sugar daddy.”

Lizzie pulled her locker open with more force than was necessary. “I don’t. He’s not.” She was angry. What was their problem?

“It looked pretty cozy to me,” Tricia supplied, her arms crossed, looking disgruntled. “If you’ve been holding out on us, you need to share.”

“What?” Said Lizzie, horrified, staring from one girl to another.

“Yeah, so if he’s not giving you stuff already, just steal his wallet,” Cara said, a mean little expression on her face. She was _enjoying_ this.

“I don't know what I did for you to be so nasty all of a sudden. I’m not stealing anyone’s wallet,” she said flatly, pulling her books out and shutting her locker. She was about to head to class but was stopped in her tracks by Tricia's next words.

“You can steal his wallet or Cara’s going to tell your dad and the cops about that car you stole from the mall.”

She turned back to Tricia, disbelieving of the words she’d just heard, her eyes wide. “You won’t,” she whispered in an undertone. “You'd get in trouble too.”

Tricia laughed. “I’m not the one that’s adopted. Maybe they'd send you back to the orphanage, who knows?” The girls cackled as they walked away, leaving her standing by her locker, clutching her books til her knuckles were white.

She wasn’t sure how she got through that day. It seemed like the whole group knew about what had been demanded of her. She walked through the halls and between almost every class there was someone shouldering past her roughly, reminding her of her task.

“Have fun with the sugar daddy,” said one snidely at gym class.

“Don't forget to cop a feel while you’re at it! He was pretty hot,” laughed another.

She miserably went to her shift after school. She couldn’t do it, she was sure she couldn't do it. And she didn't know what else to do. What would her dad say when he found out? She quailed thinking of it.

She’d spent so much time thinking about this fresh drama that she’d almost forgotten that she’d practically drooled over him the previous day. She stopped short when she saw him at his table. It all came flooding back. Steeling herself, she went over to him, a smile fixed on her face.

“I wondered what happened to you yesterday. Katie told me you weren't feeling well. Is that what really happened?” He asked, with a compassionate look on his face.

It was the compassion that undid her. She swallowed hard, tears swimming in her eyes. “No, It was those girls,” she admitted in a low voice, “And I’m really sorry, I shouldn't have left, and I shouldn't be talking about this now. Can I get you your usual?” She was horrified at herself. She liked him, but she didn’t like that she couldn't seem to shut up around him. She was too comfortable. It was going to get her into trouble.

His eyebrows drew together slightly, not a frown but a gentle look of concern. He reached to touch her arm, just a brush of his fingers. “They’re not worth your time, sweetheart,” he said kindly.

The tension in her stomach uncoiled into a thousand butterflies. He’d called her _sweetheart_. She felt herself glowing, the fixed smile on her face relaxing into something real.

She wandered back to the kitchen after taking his order as though she were walking on clouds. How did he do that with one word?

Then Saturday rolled around. It had started out so perfectly. She'd gone in again for her shift, it had been busy, but not crazy. That was the best kind of day to have. Raymond had arrived like clockwork.

"I've had time to think about your problem," he said as he seated himself at his favorite table.

She stopped, confused. "What problem?"

"Your presentation at school," he said, raising an eyebrow as though he were mildly unimpressed that she wasn't keeping up. "Your teacher is uncomfortable with you making forced prostitution the subject matter, is she not?"

"Yes," she acknowledged.

"So what I suggest is that you make the other areas of trafficking, organ stealing and forced labor, the key elements and touch on the sex trade briefly instead of making it your focus. There are a lot of very seasoned campaigners who you could talk about," he said animatedly, reaching for a folder he had on the table.

To her surprise and pleasure, he had multiple documents with him, and copious notes written in his own hand. He held them out to her. "I know you're busy now but these might help for later...and if you have any questions, well..." he shrugged his shoulders, indicating somewhat self deprecatingly that he would be there to answer them.

"Thank you," she said, taking the folder. "That's amazing," she winced as she heard the familiar word leave her mouth. Would she ever be able to use it again without feeling intense embarrassment?

He smiled graciously, deliberately overlooking her confusion, allowing her to collect herself. "Let's just say it's a shared interest. I admire your enthusiasm and thirst for knowledge. You should never let that fire go out, Lizzie."

She clutched the folder to her chest as she returned to the kitchen. Leaning against a wall, she groaned loudly, her eyes squeezed shut. She popped them open again to find half the kitchen staff staring at her open mouthed. "What?" She snapped, stalking off to enjoy her private feelings somewhere else.

She wasn't prepared for Tricia and Cara and their little group of followers. She was in too good a mood to think that this might happen. But she wasn't able to ignore them. They were loud, obnoxious and sitting in her section.

Tricia came wandering up to the counter after she'd taken their orders. She had felt Raymond's eyes on her the whole time. She was ashamed to have ever called these people friends. She'd caught his eyes out of the corner of her own as she turned to go and give the kitchen their order. His expression had been undecipherable. But he'd been listening closely.

Tricia smirked nastily at her now. "Time's up Liz. We could have used some cash at the mall today but we didn't have any because _someone_ is being selfish."

She took a slow breath, willing herself not to chuck the cloth she was using on the counter at the stupid girls head. "I'm not doing it," she said quietly, "find someone else to hassle."

Tricia's mouth tightened in displeasure. "I've got your home phone number. I'm calling your dad on Monday after school if you don't have his wallet."

She felt panic rise in her chest. "Wait, Tricia, this is stupid, you can have my tips from tonight, okay?" She realized too late she probably shouldn't have insinuated the other girl was stupid. Her face had twisted angrily at the words.

"No, I want his wallet. You think you're so much better than us?" She hissed. "We'll see how much better you feel when daddy's having to pick his perfect princess up from the station." She turned back to her table, leaving Lizzie almost hyperventilating behind the counter.

How could such a perfect day go downhill so fast? She couldn't think, her mind whirring, looking for an out to this situation.

He was clearly rich. He wouldn't even know. All the same, she could take his wallet, put her own tips in it and give it to the girls. No, that wouldn't work. How was she supposed to get his own money back to him. What if he had a photo in the wallet that he'd never get back? This was the worst day ever, she thought bleakly.

And then it started raining.

Pouring more like. The group of her rowdy ex friends started eyeing the weather outside from the windows. They didn't even finish their food. It was getting dark and raining so hard, it was barely possible to see their car in the parking lot. One of the older girls, Natasha had driven them and she was urging everyone to finish and go. It was her mom's car and she hadn't told her that she'd 'borrowed' it. She didn't want to drive it in bad weather and risk an accident and discovery.

Honestly she was surprised they even paid their bill, the way they'd been treating her. They didn't leave a tip though. She cleaned their table, one eye on her work, the other anxiously surveying the weather outside. She only had an hour and a half left of her shift but it was already dark and the walk to the bus stop in the rain was going to be miserable.

If her dad hadn't been working late himself she would have called him. She sighed. Katie had to pick her kid up from daycare so would be no good for a ride either.

She looked up to find Raymond's eyes on her. He waved her over.

"It's not really public transport weather tonight is it? He asked.

She smiled weakly. "I guess not."

"I don't mean to intrude on any plans you might have but I can take you home if you'd like. I'm happy to wait until you've finished your shift." His offer was courteously given, almost offhand, letting her know he didn't mind either way.

There was barely anyone left in the diner. The bad weather had cleared them out. She hadn't realized that Katie had been listening to the offer until her voice rang out.

"Oh, you're taking our Lizzie home are you," said Katie, an odd tone to her voice. She was extra loud as though she was throwing her voice out to whoever was left in the diner. She looked at Raymond steadily and he looked back at her, lifting his chin at her infinitesimally.

"I'd be happy to if that's alright with her," he boomed, just as loudly.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. Some sort of adult code was going on between them and she guessed that it was something along the lines of Katie threatening to find and hunt him down if she didn't show up for work after school on Monday safe and sound. And Raymond appeared to have acknowledged the message. All said without saying it.

Adults were weird sometimes.

 

* * *

 

She'd been surprised to find he had a driver. His fancy car was driven right up to the entrance of the diner and all they had to do was step in.

The car had a privacy screen for the passengers in the back seat. She started to feel nervous. She could lift his wallet from him right now and he'd never know. His driver couldn't see. Could she really do it? She liked him so much, he'd been so nice to her. It was awful, what she was thinking of doing. It would be so easy though, it was like this situation had been created for her.

But she thought of what it would be like to see the way her dad would look at her after charges were laid. To kiss all of her career aspirations goodbye because of a teenage rap sheet.

Her hands twitched, she made a distracting gesture, slipping his wallet from his pocket easily.

Child's play.

She never, ever doubted herself. She was so good, no one ever saw it happen. Her friends had made a game of it. See if you can spot Lizzie at work. He was silent now. He'd been talking to her about her school presentation until she'd slipped the wallet from his pants pocket. But even with his silence she was still confident she hadn't been caught.

Until they pulled up at her house and he locked the doors, not looking at her.

"I'd like my wallet back before you leave, please," he said heavily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if I'm a little bit deranged would you not  
> Estrange me  
> Or change me  
> And if I can write your name can I be  
> Angry and  
> Nasty  
> And if nothing else can change me  
> And I am just this way then  
> Would you love me?  
> ~ "I’m a Fantastic Wreck, Montaigne"

* * *

 

She stared at him in shock.

"Elizabeth, I'm so disappointed," he said, turning to look at her, his voice dismayed. "I've come to expect so much more than that from you. Why, Lizzie?"

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, handing his wallet back tentatively, her eyes filling up with tears. "It's this stupid thing. Those girls, the ones back at the diner, they're my friends. They're trying to ruin everything. They told me if I don't steal your wallet, they'll tell my dad...about some stuff I did." She stopped there, frozen in shame.

He was silent for a while. She bowed her head. He'd kick her out of the car, or worse yet, take her directly down to the police station, she supposed.

"What things," he asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"What are they trying to ruin?"

And suddenly it was too much. He was basically asking her about her crush and god, she felt she was starting to understand why it was called a crush. It was crushing the life out of her. She couldn't keep it to herself anymore. She didn't have any friends to tell. So she'd tell him.

“They know I like you...a lot,” she said in a rush. “And I’m working a lot more hours at the diner to see you.” She flinched as she heard her own words. Well maybe she could show him too.

She lunged at him, plastering her mouth to his, throwing her arms around his neck. And his arms weren't around her exactly but his hands were hovering over her hair and he was returning her kiss. She stuck her tongue in his mouth enthusiastically but he pulled his head back, gasping.

“You can touch me if you want,” she whispered breathlessly.

He looked white, ill even. “No I _cannot_ touch you if I want,” he said hoarsely. But his hands still hovered around her as if of their own volition, framing her face. He groaned, throwing his head back to face the roof of the car. “What am I doing?” he said, sounding broken, his hands falling to his sides.

She surged forward again, mashing her face into his, with more eagerness than finesse. He grunted, placing his hands on her shoulders, pulling her away from him a little, his eyes darting across her face wildly, finally resting on her mouth. “Someone needs to teach you how to kiss,” he rasped.

She pulled back even further, her face burning in humiliation. “I don’t need you-”

He interrupted her, his lips brushing hers gently then pulling back a little. “Like that,” he crooned, his hand reaching to cup her face. He ran a thumb over her fluttering eyelid. “Don’t rush it,” he instructed, touching his lips to hers again, this time slightly firmer, briefly sucking on her bottom lip. “Good?” He asked.

She nodded, too lightheaded to trust herself to speak.

“There now,” he said with difficulty, running a finger across her lips, “You’re going to make some boy very happy. You should be practicing with boys your own age.”

Impulsively she took his finger into her mouth and sucked gently.

“ _Ah fuck_ ,” he said, taking a sharp, shaky breath, sweat appearing on his forehead.

“ _Language_ ,” she remarked with a cheeky look cast his way from under her eyelashes.

He gave her such a dangerous look in return. It sent chills down her back and heat unfurled in her belly, spreading its warmth through her. He scooted sideways, pressing her up against the door, leaning over her, his eyes heavily lidded, a bird of prey about to consume it's hapless victim.

"Would you like me to show you what to do with that tongue of yours?" He growled, seeking out her lips again.

His hands were around her arms, ghosting up and down her skin. He was humiliating and arousing her by turns it seemed. So she was a terrible kisser then? He was still happy to kiss her though, she thought with satisfaction.

She made inarticulate little sounds as he somehow overpowered her completely with the most delicate of kisses. His lips were so warm, so soft, She felt tingles in her arms, her legs and...well tingles everywhere.

He drew back slightly. “It’s like a dance Lizzie. Beats of four...Nice,” he kissed her, “slow,” he kissed her again, “kisses. And only then, if the person you’re kissing is receptive, do you slip in a little tongue." He kissed her again, this time his tongue was in her mouth. She wasn't sure what to do next, but he knew. He licked her tongue with the lightest of touches, sending a jolt between her legs. She gasped. He was _sucking_ on her tongue now, so lightly. She squeaked as he bit her bottom lip, nibbling and licking at her, driving her crazy. Her breath was coming so fast and her blood was hammering through her like a train. She was _throbbing_. She had only felt this way in the privacy of her own bedroom before, with her door closed and a pillow between her legs.

She'd never had a guy...make her feel this way.

It seemed like hours and yet only seconds. She carefully copied the things he did that made her feel so good, and from his heavy breathing and groans of pleasure, she judged she was learning well. A hand had wandered from her arm to her breast. That had been nearly enough to send her over the edge. She wasn't sure how much he might want of her but he kept batting her hands away when she reached for his belt.

So maybe he was happy just to kiss her? To touch her?

She lifted her head, panting and grinning at him. "I have a curfew," she said. "What time is it?"

And his face tightened, his eyes losing some of their blurry desire. "You should go inside now," he said, his voice flat and cold. He reached for his wallet, taking a thing or two out of it and giving it back to her. "If that buys you some time, take it. But I think you're smarter and braver than that. You should tell your father everything you've done. He's here to protect you, let him do his job, Lizzie." He reached over, opening the car door for her.

She hesitated, accepting his offering. "I won't tell him...about this," she said, hopping out of the car.

* * *

 

She thought about him for the rest of that weekend. She knew her dad had assumed she had a crush. Mooning about the house he’d called it.

“So am I allowed to know who it is?” Sam asked dryly.

“No one. Stop being so nosy dad. There’s no one,” she said sharply. God he was so annoying. Why was he _laughing_ at her. She was serious!

She flounced off to her bedroom, her sanctuary. She sat on her bed hugging her little mermaid Flounder and smiled to herself. She wondered what Raymond would think of her room. What he might think of the pictures she’d drawn in kindergarten tacked onto the cream colored walls or the baby pink dresser with the mirror that was starting to show its age. She glanced at the carpet, the same color as the walls originally but over the years had turned gray with the occasional splashes of faded pink from some of her experiments with paint and food dye. Everything was so familiar, so soft and inviting. And she felt like a new person looking at her things with different eyes.

She felt changed. Was she a woman now? Her cheeks warmed embarrassingly at the thought. She was glad no one could see some of the stuff that went through her head. Throwing herself flat onto her back on the bed she let out a sigh.

For probably the hundredth time that weekend she replayed Saturday night in her head. His breath had smelt faintly of cigars. She’d been thrilled by that. He was so suave, so masculine, always seeming in control but she had dented that control. He had _kissed_ her back.

She squeezed her Flounder to her chest, letting out a tiny squeal of excitement. She would see him again on Monday. She couldn't wait.

She took the bus on Monday morning, her thoughts full of a plan she’d hatched the night before. She probably should have been more concerned about seeing Tricia and Cara that morning but she wasn’t.

He had said she was brave.

And she wanted to be. She wanted to be as brave as he said she was. She wasn’t going to do as they’d demanded. She had Raymond’s wallet in her bag. She’d be returning it to him untouched.

He had said she was smart too. And she was. She didn’t wait at her locker. She went to find the girls at theirs.

She saw Tricia first. She went straight up to the girl and handed her a piece of paper. ”Here,” was all she said.

“What’s this?”

“It's a copy of a list of all the names and addresses of the people whose letterboxes you’ve been stealing from. You may not have stolen a car but I know you’ve been committing fraud. I betcha if the cops came round to your place they’d find heaps of credit cards in the names of those people,” she said, pointing to the piece of paper. “And knowing how greedy you are, you’ve probably already had stuff shipped to your house, so don’t think you can just get rid of the cards. If you blab, so will I,” she said with rising satisfaction at the look of fury suffusing Tricia’s face.

She snatched the paper from Lizzie’s hands, running her eyes over it frantically, looking back up at her. “You’ve got nothing on Cara, or anyone else. How do you know they won’t tell?” She said tightly.

Lizzie smiled. “I guess that’s your problem. You'd better convince them.” She didn't wait for a response, turning and walking to class.

It was the sweetest victory. None of the group so much as looked at her all day. They’d clearly been given their orders. The only stain that marred the day was her experience in the cafeteria. She’d tried to sit with an old friend. She’d known Alison since middle school but she'd been drifting apart from her even before she’d started hanging out with Tricia's group. Apparently she'd been more neglectful of their friendship than she’d thought. Alison didn't want to sit with her. As she left, she noticed some weird looks from the people at Alison’s table. Was stuff being said about her?

That had caused a nasty feeling in the pit of her stomach. But she deliberately pushed it aside. She couldn't wait to tell Raymond and give him his wallet back after school.

Katie was hanging around the back of the diner when she came in through the kitchen door. There was such an expression of relief on her face when she walked in that she stopped and stared. “What? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, I just couldn’t get Saturday out of my mind," said Katie, handing her an apron, "your customer hasn’t shown up and I was freaking out a bit. Thinking the worst.”

“What? You mean Raymond? He’ll be in any second,” she said confidently, slipping on her apron and walking out front.

But he wasn’t. His table remained empty for a little while longer but then she had to fill it with other customers. She was distracted. Where was he? She worried, perhaps he hadn't wanted her to take the wallet? Had he wanted her to demonstrate that she could be brave and smart right then?

 _I didn't know it was a test_ , she thought fretfully.

She dragged her feet home, unenthused with the dinner that her dad had cooked, stirring her food around her plate, her shoulders slumped in a decidedly dejected air.

“Honey? Did it not go well today?” Sam inquired tentatively.

“Did what not go well?” She asked.

“Just...I thought...well it seems like something’s been up, that's all.”

She dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter. They both winced slightly at the jarring sound. She couldn't talk about this. Not with her dad. Why was everyone making it so hard for her right now? She pushed her chair back, leaving her half eaten meal and ran down the hall to her room, shutting the door with a loud thud.

Tuesday was the same. Rumors started to fly and people were giving her weird looks in the halls. She didn't know what was being said about her but it must be bad. She went to work, hoping that she might see him, that it had just been a blip. He was a businessman after all. Anything could have come up. But he wasn't there.

Wednesday was just more of the same. School, work, avoiding her dad at home. Some senior boys at school had started flirting with her, giving her what she supposed passed for compliments but made her uncomfortable. She had a fair idea now what the rumors were about.

And then on Thursday after gym, she was pulling her shirt over her head when she heard it.

“Tricia said she was giving hand jobs in the back of the diner she works at. That’s why she’s always got money to throw around.”

She froze. Icy fury flooded through her, numbing and choking her. A drum beat thudded in her ears. She stood frozen, unable to move of her own volition, her shirt halfway over her head. Then she was shaking, struggling to breathe.

She took a painful breath, air slowly entering her lungs again. And then another. A coherent thought hadn’t yet come to her. Breathe, she said to herself. Just breathe first, then think.

Then her thoughts caught up to her.

* * *

 

There were screams in the locker room as she left, marching like a rampaging elephant toward the cafeteria. She barely even knew the girl she’d shoved into the lockers. She didn't care. Screw whoever she was. How dare she spread that filthy rumor.

And Tricia.

The bell had rung for lunch. She’d be in the cafeteria with all the others. This wasn't going to end here.

They locked eyes from across the room and that _bitch_ had the hide to smile.

No, no way.

She could tell from the way Tricia’s face changed as she made her way across the room that she probably looked a fright. Or frightening. Whatever.

She didn't bother with any bullshit hair pulling or face scratching.

“ _You nasty, lying bitch_ ,” she spat, not giving the girl any chance of a retort before she swung her arm back and punched her full in the face with her closed fist. Tricia staggered, her hands at her face, gasping in shock.

Instead of being a relief, she felt even more charged up. She could kill this girl, she thought with detached concern. Was she going to? This building pressure in her head didn't feel like it would be released until she made her suffer. She advanced on her, grabbing a handful of lasagna from a nearby tray and seized the girl's hair with her other hand, pulling her face up. She mashed the lasagna into her face.

“Do you know I’ve never taken a _thing_ for myself,” she said sweetly, holding the girl's hair tightly in her fist, forcing her to her knees. She was scrabbling at Lizzie’s hand unsuccessfully, crying and trying to release herself from the tight grip in her hair. “I only took stuff for you guys, because _you_ wanted a CD, or _you_ wanted to go for a joyride. I work so HARD,” she roared, tears standing in her eyes now. “For everything I have, and YOU crap all over it in one WEEK.”

A shuddering sob was ripped from her and then she smashed her fist into the girl's face again. Tricia fell over, hunched on the ground, sniveling. It just made Lizzie angrier. She threw herself on top of the girl, punching her over and over, heedless of the screams and gleeful chanting around her. She could feel hot and cold food being thrown at her, at both of them. Someone or multiple someone's had decided to use her mashing the lasagna into Tricia's face as the catalyst for a food fight.

All the sound in the cafeteria was barely making it through her head. She was in a fog. She could feel herself being pulled off the girl on the floor. Was it two teachers? Three?

The next thing she clearly remembered was sitting in the corridor in front of the principal’s office, examining her hands. They were crusted with dried lasagna. She picked it off of herself absently, watching the clumps of red mince sauce fall to the ground. She looked up. Her dad was just leaving the principal’s office, shutting the door behind him.

He looked back at her. “Get your things from your locker,” he said grimly. “You’ve been suspended for three days.” He lifted paperwork up that he’d been holding. “I have some school work you’ll be expected to do at home to stay caught up.”

They were silent in the car. She couldn't think of anything to say, her throat was so full. She felt deflated, her fury all used up, there was just nothing else left in its place. She followed her dad into the house quietly, standing in the hall, unsure if she should go to her room or if he would speak to her further. Her hand was beginning to sting and ache. She realized it had swollen to twice its size and she’d split the skin on two of her knuckles. She didn't say anything about it though. She’d never been in as much trouble as this.

Her dad stalked into the kitchen, so she followed him in. He reached into the freezer and took out a packet of frozen garden peas, wrapping it in a tea towel and handing it to her. “Sit,” he said, jerking his head toward the kitchen table.

She sat.

“I just don't know what to do, Lizzie,” he said helplessly, "my own father would have taken me out back and given me a hiding but you know I don't agree with that. I just…” he broke off, looking as though he were choked up.

Her lower lip trembled but she said nothing, just holding the frozen peas to her damaged hand.

He gathered himself, leaning against the fridge. “You’re grounded,” he said, "you can go to tennis after school but I’m calling Pauly at the diner. If he can't accommodate a change in your shifts, you'll have to quit. I think you’ve placed too much pressure on yourself and I want to see you focusing more on your schoolwork. Understood?”

She nodded, trying to swallow the lump growing bigger in her throat. “Grounded for how long?” She asked, her voice croaking with disuse.

He frowned slightly. “I haven't decided yet,” he shook his head. “I think you should go to your room now. I have to make a call,” he muttered, his voice sounding defeated and old.

* * *

 

She sat quietly on her bed for a while, just staring at the wall. Then she lay down, holding one of her stuffed toys to her chest. She couldn't close her eyes, the scene in the cafeteria just kept playing over and over in her head. She had never been so angry before. Where had that all come from? It had felt unnatural, she'd had no control. She shivered, realizing she'd actually had thoughts about killing another human being. How horrible was she? There must be something wrong with her.

After a while her dad knocked on her door.

"Come in," she said, clearing her throat.

He let himself in, a small frown still on his face. He walked over to the end of her bed and sat down. "Lizzie, I haven't asked, I've been reminded....well, I just haven't asked. Why did you hit that girl today?"

She took a shaky breath and squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"No, I'm afraid that's not good enough this time," he said, not unkindly. "You need to tell me. Did she say something to you?"

She looked up at her father, curled her legs into a ball, wrapped her arms around herself and cried.

He moved up the bed to sit beside her, a look of alarm on his face. He took her uninjured hand and squeezed it comfortingly and just let her cry for a while, stroking her hair.

She told him, between heaving sobs. She hadn't meant to include the stolen cars but somehow it all came out. It was such a relief to share her burden. She told him about her excitement at being included with the girls at school that everyone was a little bit afraid of. She hadn't meant to let it go so far but she'd just been so good at it.

He raised an eyebrow at that. "Yeah, you're a bit of a show off," he said, struggling to keep up with her revelations, trying to take it as calmly as possible. "I should send you to boot camp. I _should_ take you down to the police station myself. But I won't."

She raised her head to look at him. "You're not?" She asked tearfully.

"No," he said heavily. "But Lizzie, I need you to help me here. You're a smart girl. You've got a responsibility to live up to that. No more stealing, no more...hitting people."

She sat up, shocked. "You're just grounding me? After what I did? I stole a _Corvette_ once."

He winced. "Please don't tell me anymore. I'll be fine with that. Just please...stop, okay?"

Three days off school went quickly. She wasn't allowed to work at the diner for the rest of the week. Pauly had agreed to reduce her shifts to twice a week. He'd need to get another waitress but had been thinking of doing that anyway. Business was good.

An empty pit stretched out in front of her. She completed her schoolwork on the first day of her suspension. All of it. She had nothing else to do. If she'd had a friend to call, she wouldn't have been allowed to anyway. Her phone privileges had been revoked in addition to being grounded. There was nothing to do except watch daytime television and wait for her dad to come home from work. He owned his own security company so usually worked late nights and sometimes weekends, but over the days of her suspension, he came home early, keen to spend some time with her. But she wasn't much company. She felt a bone deep sadness settling over her and a lethargy that was fast becoming hard to shake off.

On the last day of her suspension she took out the work she'd done for her presentation in her Sociology class. She hadn't looked at it lately. Taking out Raymond's notes, she felt a rush of shame and embarrassment and something else she struggled to name. He hadn't been far from her thoughts these past few days but seeing his handwriting, thinking of the last time she had seen him, brought it all back with gut wrenching vividness.

She wept over her schoolwork, sitting at the kitchen table, alone in the house. When had her life become so grey?

And school was coming. Suspension had almost been a relief, a chance to catch her breath but it wasn't going to last forever.

Her dad drove her on her first day back. She'd take the bus normally but he'd been keeping a hawk eye over her and probably would for some time, she thought with regret.

Lizzie hunched her shoulders as she walked to her locker, sensing the stares and knotted groups of kids gathering to giggle and whisper behind her back. It wasn't long before she overheard someone say that she'd broken Tricia's nose. She wouldn't be returning to school until next week.

Wondering what she would do or say if any of Tricia's group approached her, she carefully closed her locker and discovered she wouldn't have to wait long to find out.

Cara and Natasha stood huddled together a few lockers down. They glanced at her and both girls flinched, looking the other way, pretending they hadn't seen her.

So that's how it was then. She was a monster to be feared.

"You really messed that girl up," said a familiar voice behind her as she walked to class. Lizzie turned around to see Alison walking behind her.

"Yeah, and I got suspended for it. Not the smartest move I've made I guess," she scoffed at herself.

"I know what she was saying about you. I would have wanted to do the same thing in your place."

Lizzie shrugged apathetically. "Did me no good," she paused wishing she'd never alienated Alison. It was too late now. Her life was over. She wouldn't drag her old friend down with her. It would be social suicide. She walked off, leaving Alison standing in the hall.

* * *

Just one week later and Sam was frantic. She'd quit her job, coming home each day to stare at the television. She didn't make or receive any phone calls and she was so quiet. She answered his questions respectfully enough, just telling him that he was right, she should be focusing more on her school work. But she'd quit tennis too and she had always loved that. Not anymore though.

He started making phone calls in his study. Sometimes she heard him. He was talking about her, worried for her. She couldn't really summon the curiosity to wonder who he was talking to.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ne Me Quitte Pas, Mon Cher  
> Ne Me Quitte Pas  
> Ne Me Quitte Pas, Mon Cher  
> Ne Me Quitte Pas  
> ~ "Don't Leave Me (Ne Me Quitte Pas), Regina Spector"

* * *

 

Another school day ended at the sound of the bell. Another day barely talking to anyone. She’d presented her assignment on human trafficking yesterday. The presentation hadn’t been delivered with her usual confidence and flair, but the content had been good and she'd received an A-. Considering the way she’d faltered those few times, she had been expecting a B so she was reasonably satisfied with that outcome.

It had been better than some of the grades she’d received over the past few months.

She couldn't understand why everyone was so unhappy with her. She was studying, she went to the library during lunch, she bit back most of the things she wanted to say to the adults around her. Which they should be glad of because if they knew some of the scathing responses she had stored up in her head they’d be outraged, to say the least.

Her thoughts wandered drearily to her cancelled tennis lessons. Her dad was so upset that she’d stopped. If he could be certain that she’d just lost interest, he’d said, then he would lay off. But he thought it was more than that.

She swung her backpack onto her shoulder, taking her usual detour to the bus stop. She went the long way round so she didn't need to walk with anyone else from school. It meant she didn’t need to give the cold shoulder to the boys who still believed she gave out ‘favors’ and didn't have to pretend she wasn’t noticing everyone else ignoring her.

She heard the car following behind her before she’d even reached the end of the street. She sped up, feeling a little anxious. The car’s speed increased with her pace, driving along side of her now. She stopped walking, backing away and glancing around her, heart hammering in her chest. Unsure of what to do, she was considering knocking on a nearby door and asking for help when the back seat car window slid down. She took a peek, terrified and suddenly her terror slid away, replaced by anger and resentment.

Raymond.

“Lizzie, will you get in?” He asked, reaching for the door handle and opening it for her.

She was in two minds. Part of her wanted to ignore him like he'd ignored her and keep walking. The other part was jumping about like an excited puppy.

She got in.

“What happened to you?" She asked flatly, determined not to appear overeager.

He just looked at her, his eyebrows drawn together slightly, an uneasy expression on his face. He cleared his throat after a moment. “I made the decision to stay away, after my...regretfully inappropriate actions. I behaved unpardonably,” he said in an even tone.

“You didn’t,” she protested, “I’m the one-”

“It doesn't matter, Elizabeth,” he interrupted “there is no excuse. There’s no universe in which that was an acceptable response to...a young girl’s crush.”

“So that’s why you’re here now?” She said disbelievingly. “To tell me, ‘oh so sorry, forgot to check if you were legal?” She spat.

He blinked. “You have every right to be upset. In fact, I knew precisely how old you were, which makes it all the more inexcusable.” His lip curled, he was clearly disgusted with himself. “I can’t...begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

She looked away, staring straight ahead stonily, humiliated and hurt beyond words. He was calling her a child. And yes there was a large age difference but he had kissed her and it had been _good_. He couldn’t deny it.

"Lizzie," he said softly. "You've quit your job, you've quit a sport that you have loved. I need to know that you're...alright."

She snorted. "It's not because of you, if that's what you think."

"Then what is it?" He pressed, "I know you've had a difficult time in school lately."

She turned her head to look at him, suddenly remembering what she had intended to do the next time she saw him. She reached for her backpack, rifling through it, pushing her school things aside roughly. "Here," she said, pulling out his wallet from the bottom of her bag and handing it to him. "I didn't touch it. I didn't give it to them. I tried another way. It didn't work so well for me but whatever," she said in a dull voice.

"I heard of how it worked out," he said, ignoring the wallet and reaching for her hand. He stroked it lightly, a pained expression on his face as he examined the scabbed marks where her knuckles had split.

She felt a flare of heat at his touch. Why did he care so much?  How did he _know_ so much?

That was an excellent question actually, she thought.

"How do you know about what happened?"

He sighed. "I'll admit, I've been keeping tabs on you. I was concerned that my actions may have caused you harm."

He still held her small hand between his big ones, as if he'd forgotten it was there.

"Well, they didn't," she said flatly, "I felt just wonderful when you disappeared though. That really made my week."

He winced, unconsciously stroking her hand now. Did he know what that was doing to her? Did he even realize he was doing it? His face looked so far away, he didn't seem to be thinking of her anymore.

Why wouldn't he look at her? Why wouldn't he see her? She wanted to _make_ him see her.

She swung a leg over his lap, giving him no warning of her intentions. That bought him back to earth. He put his hands up as though in surrender, his expression panic stricken. She almost felt bad for him. But she liked it, this power she had over his ability to maintain self control. It made her feel good and she hadn't felt good for a while.

She straddled one leg, clenching her thighs on him. He groaned, his eyes fluttering closed, his head thrown back.

"Lizzie, please don't," he gasped. "I can't do this."

"Push me away then," she demanded, knowing somehow that he wouldn't.

His hands fell to the seat, gripping the leather with white knuckled intensity, his face set in a grimace as though he were enduring some terrible torture.

It offended her. He liked her well enough a few weeks ago. Why was he acting like this now? She clenched again experimentally. Nothing. He just sat there, letting her do things to him, not stopping her but not participating either. What would it take to get a reaction from him?

She bent her head, kissing him lightly on the mouth. His lips remained firmly compressed. She kissed his eyelids, bringing her hands to his face, exploring his features, tracing his laugh lines with her fingers. He just sat there. When was he going to open his eyes? She could tell by his breathing that he wasn't unaffected by what she was doing

He smelt so good, his aftershave was subtle and alluring. She didn't know how to pick the scent but it was exotic and had an understated elegance about it. She placed her mouth against his neck and inhaled deeply.

"Lizzie!" His eyes flew open.

She dimpled at him. Well at least he was looking at her. If only he could look at her forever. Surely he couldn't worry about anything else when he saw her? They had something special.

His eyebrows dragged down into a frown, unhappiness pulled at his mouth. “Lizzie,” he said again, taking her by her hips and gently removing her from his lap to sit beside him. “I’m not a good man. I am old...certainly compared to you and I am not what you think I am.”

“You don't even know what I think of you,” she said argumentatively.

He smiled, amused exasperation on his face. “I have some idea,” he said dryly. “Judging from your enthusiasm.”

She slumped into her seat. Why must he remind her of her embarrassing over eagerness?

He reached for her hand again. Why did he _do_ that? Didn't he know it made her want to to be nearer to him, to feel his arms around her? Didn’t he know she needed him?

They sat silently for some time, the silence growing a little uncomfortable for her. He seemed quite content to hold her hand, looking at her with understanding eyes, saying nothing.

“I don't see why I should be settling for a boy my own age,” she said suddenly. “The only thing the boys at my school want to do is see if I’ll take them out behind the gym and give them a hand job,” she said crudely. “It’s the rumor going around about me at the moment. You seem to know everything. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t,” he growled. “And if you tell me who has been saying that, they’ll wish very shortly that they had kept their filthy mouths shut.”

She laughed a little nastily. “What are you gonna do? Punch every boy at my school? Because _everyone_ believes it.”

He paused. "Not everyone...Lizzie, don't you think you might be overstating it a bit?"

She folded her lips in an effort not to cry. He didn't know what it felt like to go to school and be completely ignored. Even some teachers treated her differently. She felt tears welling up in her eyes. This was so unfair.

The arid existence that she had been living in over the past few weeks started to erode and fracture so suddenly that she struggled for breath. Great waves of pain and loneliness spiked inside of her chest. She hadn't cried since she'd come back to school. It was a relief to cry now.

"Oh, no, no, please don't cry, darling girl," he said, in some distress. He folded her hand to his chest, holding it to his heart as though he were hurting too.

She couldn't remember the last time she had cried so hard. The convulsive sobbing tearing from her throat was physically painful. It was ugly and not very grown up at all but she didn't care just then. She couldn't help but lean into him for comfort. He already held her hand so close to him. She just wanted him to hold her, to make her feel wanted. And he was, he was pulling her into him now. He was stroking her face. She'd only felt his hands against her cheek once before, but already they were so familiar.

"You shouldn't be alone with me," he said regretfully.

"You came to me!" She cried.

"I know, I know," he said, kissing her hair. "I just can't bear to see you hurting, sweetheart. I would leave you well enough alone if I could just be certain..." he trailed off, squeezing her against him a little.

"Certain of what?" She sniffled, her sobs quietening as she rubbed her cheek against his jacket.

"Certain that you'd be happier," he said softly.

"I wouldn't be," she said pitifully. "I wouldn't be happier if you left. Why can't you just-"

“I won't leave you like this,” he interrupted, “I’m not going, Lizzie. Until I know you’re fine, I won’t be going anywhere.” He rested his chin on her head. “This is my mess, I won't leave you to suffer for it.”

She jerked herself back from him. “I’m not a mess for you to clean up, thanks,” she said angrily. She grabbed her things and reached for the door handle. He didn’t want her after all. She was just a mistake for him to fix. Well, she didn’t need anyone to fix her. He could just leave her alone. The whole _world_ could just leave her alone.

She stumbled out of the car with her bag and her hurt pride, ignoring his calls for her to return to the car. She was furious at herself because there was a small part of her that wished he’d follow. Even after making it evident that he had only come back out of guilt and some sense of obligation, she still wished he’d chase her.

It was a humiliating thought.

No one sat next to her on the bus. She tuned her thoughts out, froze Raymond out of her head, pushed everything she had wrecked in her life away. Sometimes she wished she had room for more than just anger and dull loneliness.

It was beginning to be her new normal, this isolation. And she found herself becoming more and more irritated with anyone who tried to reach out to her, to help her. Her dad was the worst. She didn’t explode like she used to at him. It was easier to turn her rage and sadness inwards.

That night was no different. She finished a quiet dinner with Sam, while he occasionally prodded to get her to talk to him.

“Lizzie,” he said, with false brightness, “have you thought about seeing that new movie? I don't know who's in them these days….they all look the same to me but I thought you might like to go see it this weekend?” He asked hopefully.

She didn’t look at him, eye contact was exhausting. “No, thanks,” she said dully, her stomach twisting into painful knots as she relived the way she’d thrown herself at Raymond that afternoon.

She packed the dishes in the dishwasher and took the trash out. Everything her dad asked of her. If she did everything he asked her to around the house, hopefully he would stop trying to get her to talk to him. She didn’t want to talk.

She lugged the heavy recycling to the trash can, not really looking where she was going and tripped on the sidewalk, dropping the recycling with a loud crash of metal and breaking glass.

She heard the front door open and her dad’s quick footsteps. “Lizzie?” His voice was tight with worry. ”What was that?”

“Sorry, I just tripped and smashed some glass.”

His eyes traveled from the recycling to the trashcan, then his gaze swiveled up and down the street, scanning for something. He did that sometimes, like he expected someone to kidnap her one day. It was weird.

“Okay, grab a flashlight and a broom. You don't want to leave glass on the sidewalk, someone could step on it.” He turned back inside, satisfied everything was fine.

She sighed. Nothing was ever good enough was it? She went inside and found the broom and a flashlight and stalked back to the mess she’d made. Broken glass all over the place, all different colors. Clear glass and red glass, smashed green bottles, her dad’s empty beer bottles. It was everywhere. She swept it all up, tipping the smashed glass into the trashcan and went inside, her shoulders slumped and her head low.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need an easy friend  
> I do with an ear to lend  
> I do think you fit this shoe  
> I do won't you have a clue?
> 
> I'll take advantage while  
> You hang me out to dry  
> But I can't see you every night  
> Free  
> ~ "About a Girl, Nirvana"

* * *

 

“Liz, you dropped this,” came a familiar voice from behind her. She turned to see Alison running after her in the hall with her pen in hand.

“Ah, thanks,” she said woodenly. She might have felt a twinge of guilt at being so unfriendly to Alison a few days ago. But yesterday had been enough for Lizzie to cope with. She was done with people.

She turned to go, she knew her former friend deserved more than the way she was treating her but couldn't summon the will to change her behavior.

The last class of the day was math which was just as well. There wasn't much that was social about math. She relied on her past reputation as a hard worker to coast by in the class that afternoon. The teacher didn’t call on her or check her work. If she had, she would have just seen a mess of silly drawings on her school book, nothing meaningful, just squiggles and doodles and silly fluffy clouds.

And a name. Just written once in cursive script.

 _Raymond_.

She had to get him out of her head. She was never going to see him again.

She was still thinking about  him though, as the bell rang and she shouldered her bag, walking down the halls and through the doors of her school. She was remembering his touch on her wrist the day he’d called her _sweetheart_. It had even changed a little in her mind. He’d called her _his_ sweetheart. He may not have uttered those exact words but the sound of it on his lips had said so much more.

She was becoming a little obsessed.

She walked her usual way to the bus stop, the long way. She was looking for him despite herself, wishing and hoping, so she spotted him straight away. This time was different from yesterday. He was outside of the car, leaning casually against it. A different car every time. She wondered about that.

She walked up to him. “What are you doing? I told you, I’m fine, I don't need you,” she said in a hostile voice. Could she drive him away? What would make him go? Would she regret it if she did?

His face was creased in familiar lines of unhappiness. “I want to be your friend Lizzie, can I be that for you?”

“I don’t need a friend,” she said. As soon as the words left her lips she knew how silly it sounded. She had no friends left. Driving away anyone stupid enough to offer their friendship now seemed to be her thing, she thought tiredly.

He refrained from smirking at her but she saw his lips twitch. “Can I take you home?” He offered.

“No,” she said bluntly, continuing her walk to the bus stop. She threw a look over her shoulder. He had pushed off from the car and was following her on foot, and the driver of the car was in turn, following him, inching forward slowly at a snail's pace.

This was ridiculous. She looked at him and could see that he knew it too, his eyes were laughing at her. She sighed huffily, “fine,” was all she said, turning back to the car. He opened the car door for her and came around the other side, sliding in beside her.

“How was your day?” He gently asked.

“The usual,” she answered briefly, a sudden reluctant smile twisting at her lips as she recalled him asking for ‘the usual’ back at the diner. He’d picked up on it as well, chuckling softly.

“You were very patient with me that first day,” he said companionably.

Her head shot up. “You were being difficult on _purpose_? Why?”

He looked as though perhaps that had been more than he intended to say. “I suppose...I wanted to get your measure,” he said uncomfortably. He brightened, “You surprised me, you were very level headed. And you have...continued to surprise me.”

She snorted. “By stealing your wallet?” She asked.

“Well that was certainly a surprise but your passion and intelligence is startling for someone so young. Tell me, how did your talk go?" He asked interestedly.

She couldn't really deny him an answer. His research and information had been pivotal to her successful grade. "It was the best thing I've done in a while," she offered grudgingly. She looked out the window. They hadn't moved. "Are you taking me home? I'm grounded you know. I have to go straight home after school."

He tapped on the privacy screen. The car started to move. "I'd like to hear about your day Lizzie. Who did you sit with at lunch?"

“I sat by myself,” she said, frowning. Why was he reminding her of that?

“You know, I remember a girl I went to school with…”

And so it went, day after day, he would wait for her after school and ask to take her home. He always asked, slouching patiently outside a different car each day. He talked with her about her schoolwork and he was so interesting that it was impossible to resist his conversation for long. He always had some little tidbit of knowledge or a story that helped with her classes. He knew an awful lot of about the conflicts in the Middle East and she found that invaluable for her next essay in her history class.

He had to work hard at it but he made her laugh now and then, even if or perhaps because of, the occasional blue story he'd tell her with a sly look on his face.

“Lizzie, you wouldn't have known it to look at him today, he had not a weapon on him but _such_ a reputation that he managed to convince them all to hand over every item of jewelry and stole a kiss from the hostess as he left. Cheeky man. Turned up as the head of some tinpot government or another years later.”

“You seem to know everyone important,” she remarked.

“Oh, I don't know,” he said airily. “My line of work takes me all over the world. I do meet interesting people though. Interesting isn't always the same as important. Remember that, Lizzie. The best storyteller I ever met was a housewife in Kurdistan, no feted author could compare to how she could spin a yarn. You have to see through the human trappings. The people who appear important are usually just a figurehead. You've got to keep an eye out for the power behind the throne.” He looked at her cheerfully. “Well, look at me blathering on. It isn't very useful advice for a schoolgirl is it?”

She folded her arms. “I'm not going to be a schoolgirl forever. I'm going to be interesting _and_ important one day,” she said.

His eyes widened fractionally at that. “Oh you are both of those things already, Lizzie,” he said, a new tone in his voice. It made her feel so good.

She liked the way he waited for her each day. She’d walk up to him and he’d ask her how she was before offering to take her home. He’d lean slightly into her, not touching her but he was so comfortable in her personal space that she found herself comfortable too.

She didn't mean it the first time it happened, she hadn't planned anything. He'd successfully distracted her from her advances by becoming an entertaining friend. He had a talent for drawing her out of herself to talk about the things she cared about and always knew just what to say, so much so, that she hadn't had time to dwell on what she saw as her unrequited feelings for him.

She'd had an awful afternoon. A senior boy had asked her point blank if she'd meet him after school for...well, she was sobbing too hard to finish her sentence, but Raymond had the idea. She'd been on the verge of tears all day since she'd been accosted and seeing his kindly face was the last straw. She threw herself into his arms, choking back her tears. He guided her into the car, his arms gently around her, trying to understand her story through her anguished sobs.

He tucked her safely under his arm but she wanted to be closer, she needed to feel him holding her. She crawled onto his lap, facing him, and lay her head on his shoulder, her arms around his neck.

He stiffened but didn't try to stop her, slowly putting his arms around her, unbending a little after a moment. They just sat there for some time, her sobs gradually quieting down.

“Shhh, Lizzie, shhh, sweetheart, it’s going to be okay,” he murmured comfortingly, his voice rich as caramel.

He soothed her, not trying to talk to her about the awful scene with the senior boy, just reassuring her that it would all be okay. She needed that.

The second time was the very next day and she _had_ meant it this time. She had crawled into his arms again as though it were a perfectly normal thing, her thighs on either side of his and her chest pressed up against him, her head on his shoulder and arms once more around his neck.

He had been startled but he didn't say a word, just held her silently.

“They make me feel so horrible,” she whispered against his neck, “those boys my own age that you’re such a big fan of for me.”

He gently traced sweeping lines up and down her back, his fingers relaxing her. He said nothing though, just softly touching her back.

“Don't you understand? You make me happy, I don’t want anyone else,” she said forlornly.

She wanted him to say something. She knew she was right, boys her own age were disgusting. No one looked at her like he did, gave so much time out of what must be a busy day, coaxed her out of her loneliness and made her laugh like he did.

“Say something...please,” she said, pulling back to look at him. Her breath caught in her throat at the despairing look in his eyes. She touched his cheek with a hand, regret filling her. She was causing him pain, pushing him to give her something he didn't want to give. “I’m sorry, I don't mean to-”

She stopped in surprise as he placed an open mouthed kiss on her forehead.

"I want to see you happy, Lizzie," he murmured, kissing her again. It might have been a chaste kiss, it might have been just for her comfort but his voice trembled tellingly as he asked her to understand.

"Can you forgive me for this?" He asked, his voice breaking slightly, his hands tangling into her hair. "I promised myself I wouldn't touch you again Lizzie. Can you forgive me?"

She wrapped herself around him tighter, "I don't need to forgive," she said contentedly. "You've done nothing wrong. I want you."

He moaned deep in his throat, an animal plea for help. "You have no idea, darling girl. No idea at all."

He continued to kiss her face and her hair. She stayed very still, conscious of not scaring him away again. His lips were as warm and pleasant as sunlight on her face. She wanted to stay like this forever.

"After all," he said dreamily, breaking into her reverie. "Where's the harm? I'll take care of you. It's just kissing, you're too young for anything else," he said, touching his lips to hers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go on and jump, give it a try  
> Checking the parachute, see if it flies  
> I don't care if I should fall I never bruise  
> I go on and jump, give it a try  
> Don't call the ambulance, I'm still alive  
> And if I should break my neck I'll make the news  
> ~ "Jump, Nerina Pallot"

* * *

"Are you going to tennis this afternoon?" Asked Alison in the cafeteria.

Lizzie was sitting with Alison and her friends. It was the second day that she'd accepted the invitation to join them and she was glad she had.

Raymond had convinced her. He listened to her, understood her like no one else could. He'd been the one to gently chide her for rebuffing Alison's extended hand of friendship.

"No, actually," she said, "I mean, I quit recently but Ra-" she stopped. "A friend talked me into signing up again. I don't start til next week."

Alison looked at her curiously. She picked up her sandwich, taking a bite, chewing slowly. "So has your dad let you off the hook yet? Or are you still grounded?"

Lizzie's face brightened. "Yeah, as of yesterday actually I'm free again." She was happier than she ever thought she could be about that. It hadn't been easy, meeting Raymond down the street from her school for twenty minutes after the last class of each day. It had felt a little bit like she was reporting to him and although she was thrilled that he seemed so interested in the details of her day, she hadn't liked the feeling that he was her teacher or drill sergeant. He'd ask her how her day was, how the other kids had been, what had made her happy that day or unhappy. And sometimes he would kiss her, holding her face gently in his hands, whispering lovely things into her ear.

She liked those days best.

"So do you want to hang out at Rob's place with us then?"

Alison was being nicer than she deserved, she thought guiltily. But today was the first day that she'd be allowed to spend all afternoon with Raymond since she'd worked at the diner. And she was so excited. She would have him to herself for _hours_.

"Sorry Alison, I've got a ton of homework. I would, but..." She shrugged, making a face. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Sure," her friend said obligingly. Alison turned to her boyfriend Rob. "Does your mom mind us hanging out at your place tomorrow as well?"

Rob's face was turned away from them for a moment. He was fumbling with something. He turned towards them dramatically with two fries sticking out of his mouth at comical angles.

"French fry vampire!" He grinned triumphantly as both girls giggled and rolled their eyes.

"Rob!" Said Alison, playfully punching him on the arm. "How old are you again? C'mon. Your mom, will she mind?"

"Nah," he returned cheerfully. "She hasn't met Liz yet. Is Karishma coming?"

Lizzie let her chin rest in her hands, the sounds of conversation going on around her fading out. She was daydreaming. She'd only told Ray yesterday afternoon that her grounding had been lifted. He'd told her that he had a surprise for her.

 

* * *

 

The bell rang and she was out the door like the shot of a gun, down the street and into the waiting car.

"Hello," she grinned exuberantly at his mild surprise. She'd practically flung herself into the car. "What are we doing today?"

"Apparently the four hundred meter sprint," he said, smiling at her. "In a hurry are we?"

"Yes!" She squealed. "Where's my surprise?"

"Where's my kiss?" He shot back.

"Where do you want it?" She said, roughening her voice, trying awkwardly for seductive.

His smile slipped into an uneasy grimace. "Come here," he said, opening his arms and pulling her into his lap. "Don't be in such a hurry to be a woman, Lizzie," he whispered into her hair. "You're perfect, just as you are."

 

* * *

 

“Rollerskating! Really?” She laughed, eyeing his suit. “Are you sure you can skate? In that?”

“Cheeky,” he growled. “I could be a competitive skater in my spare time for all you know.”

“Well,” she said, lacing up her skates, “we’ll see.” She stood, making her way to the skate floor. “Race ya,” she threw over her shoulder at him.

She had told him once about the time her cousin Harry had taught her to skate. They’d been visiting Aunt June for Christmas and Harry had taken her out every day, teaching her. She’d been covered in bruises by the time they went home from falling on her ass half a dozen times or more but she’d learned fast, like she did with most things and it was the one thing she wished she could do more often, but the nearest skating rink was out of town and she didn’t drive yet.

It was one of her favorite memories. He had remembered that from the diner.

He was so sweet, she thought warmly.

He was a reasonable skater but she was better. She ran rings around him. Literally.

“So, what do you think my roller derby name would be?” She asked, circling him with ease.

‘“The Face Mincer,” he said promptly.

She felt her knees buckle under her and she spun out, losing control.

She only had a split second to react.

What had he said?

And then she hit the boards.

She crashed so hard that she ricocheted off the boards and back into the middle of the rink. She lay sprawled out on the smooth surface of the skate rink, in shock. WHAT had he said?

He skated over to her, a horrified look on his face. He extended an arm. “Are you okay Lizzie?”

She stared at his hand. She was dizzy and winded. She grasped his arm shakily, hauling herself up with his help and hobbled on her skates out of the rink.

She sank onto a bench, slumped over, allowing him to prop her upright. He’d taken his own and her skates off and had his arms around her now. She still felt so dizzy and her hip hurt where she'd crashed into the boards.

She could feel that her shirt had ridden up a little and he was rubbing small circles on her back with one hand, his other hand resting on her sternum so she didn't fall forward.

Her fall had garnered the attention of a staff member. He came jogging over to them. “Is she alright?" He asked Raymond.

“I’m fine,” she said, smiling weakly, dropping her head again, the movement making her feel sick. She was embarrassed. So much for roller derby, she thought with a wince.

She looked up again. The guy who worked there was still hovering. Why did he look so uncomfortable? Then she noticed where Raymond’s hands were.

It was just that her shirt had ridden up, she thought woozily. He couldn't help that. He was busy trying to keep her upright. Why wouldn't this guy go away?

“Are you sure your _daughter_ doesn’t need first aid?” asked the guy a bit sharply.

“Quite sure, thank you,” she heard him respond smoothly.

"Ma'am," he said hesitantly, ignoring Raymond. "Do you need-"

" _Thank_ you, I'll let you know if she needs further assistance," he said firmly, his tone allowing for no argument. The guy took one last unhappy look at her, nodded and walked off.

"What was that about?" She asked shakily.

"Never mind, his mind was in the gutter," he said.

"No, I mean... _Face Mincer?_ ”

"Oh, Lizzie, it was an ill-considered joke. I know you regret hitting that girl. I shouldn't have said it," he offered contritely.

"Well I wouldn't go that far," she said slowly. "Not regret...exactly." She rolled her shoulders, testing for any sharp pains. It was fine though. She'd landed on her ass and although she'd have a sore hip from the crash, it didn't feel like anything more than a bruise.

She glared at him. “I know it’s a small town but how did you know about that? The specifics of it, I mean. Because that’s pretty much what I did,” she said defiantly, as if daring him to be disgusted with her.

He huffed a laugh. “Like you said Lizzie, It’s a small town. Think you can manage a walk to the cafe? I daren’t brave the barista’s skills here but let’s get you a cherry soda,” he said smilingly.

She loved it when he smiled that way. It was just for her. And he didn’t seem to mind at all that she had that depth of violence in her. She had worried about what he might think of her if he knew.

And he had known all along.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And all the roads we have to walk are winding  
> And all the lights that lead us there are blinding  
> There are many things that I would  
> Like to say to you  
> But I don't know how
> 
> Because maybe  
> You're gonna be the one that saves me  
> And after all  
> You're my wonderwall  
> ~ "Wonderwall, Oasis"

 

* * *

 

“Oh, god,” moaned Alison, throwing a pillow at Lizzie. “You have got to be kidding me. Ben Affleck is so not my thing. Not when you can have Bruce Willis,” she giggled.

They were down in Alison's basement, sleeping bags and pillows strewn across the room in front of the TV, an empty pizza box and a bowl of half-eaten popcorn sat between them.

“Really?” Lizzie asked eagerly, stunned at the opening her friend had given. “You can see how an older guy can be sexier?”

“Hell yeah!”

“You know, Bruce Willis is what? In his early forties, right? I mean, he’s wasted in Armageddon. I don't really like Affleck as the love interest in this movie to be honest,” confided Lizzie.

“Hmm, I think you’re right,” Alison yawned. “God, how late is it? I don't think we have time for another movie. Mom will probably come downstairs soon and ask us to turn the TV off.”

“That’s okay,” Lizzie said, adjusting her sleeping bag around herself. “Hey, thanks for inviting me over. It’s been so long since we’ve just hung out like this. When was the last time we had a slumber party?”

“I dunno, not since the first year of high school I guess.”

“Well...it’s just nice. Thanks for...just thanks,” she said, unsure of quite how to express her gratitude to her friend.

Alison turned over in her sleeping bag, facing Lizzie, an inquisitive expression on her face. “What happened, Liz? To change things I mean. We were so close...then everything just…” She shrugged, illustrating her confusion.

“I don't know. I’m sorry. I suppose I’ve just always felt so square peg, round hole, you know? I just wanted to fit in somewhere, to belong.” She tensed, waiting for the hurt feelings that might accompany that statement. She had to tell the truth though. She hadn't felt like she’d belonged anywhere, ever. And now she did and it was like she’d come home. All the challenges of navigating a life as a teenager in school just seemed so small now that she had Ray.

To her surprise, Alison didn't take it personally that Lizzie hadn’t felt that she’d belonged in her friendship group.

“I get it, I guess. You’ve always been someone who was going to leave us all behind in this hick town, Liz. I just...wasn't sure how you thought you were going to do it with those awful girls.”

“Yeah, it was stupid,” she said sleepily, watching Alison turn the TV off and hop back into her sleeping bag. “I’m glad you still wanted to talk to me though...afterwards.”

Alison laughed. “You messed Tricia up. I don't actually want to talk to you, I just need your protection at school,” she teased.

Lizzie snorted, throwing the pillow back at her friend. “Go to sleep, doofus.”

It had been easier than she could have imagined, falling back into her friendship with Alison. It wasn't the same as it had been in middle school. It couldn’t be. Lizzie had a secret. A big one. Something that set her apart from all of her peers. Ray had made her promise that she wouldn’t tell her friends. He was glad that she had friends again, but that didn't mean she could confide this to them.

She’d asked him the other day in the car, draped over him in her tennis uniform, her body all sticky and sweaty after her lesson.

“There would be trouble Lizzie,” he said firmly, his hands drifting under her skirt.

“I don’t have to tell them anything more than your name,” she pleaded, her breath hitching as he slipped a finger underneath the elastic of her cotton panties.

He tilted his chin at her, a disapproving look on his face. “And what then? What about when they want to meet me and find out that's not an option?”

“Why can't it be an option? My friends wouldn't tell. I mean, what if they see you with me one day, what am I supposed to say?”

He frowned, giving her bottom a hard squeeze, eliciting a small squawk of protest from her. “They aren't likely to when I take you out of town, like at the skating rink, but you know, don't you Lizzie, that I can't just swan around town with you on my arm?”

She peppered light, flirty kisses over his face and throat. He made these particular noises when she did that to him and she loved the sound.

“Promise me,” he growled, biting her bottom lip warningly, “Promise me, this is our secret, Lizzie.”

She sighed into his mouth, yielding to his lips and tongue as he explored her.

She had promised. But only after he'd indicated he would go away and not return if she couldn't keep their relationship between them only.

He did go away sometimes, not for long but she always missed their trysts. She had grown tired of the cramped conditions in the back seat of the car and had shown him a private little park bench overlooking a creek a small way out of town. She'd asked him first if he could show her his own house. He'd been a bit vague. He stayed in hotels a lot, he explained. He had to, his business required him to be so mobile. And he didn't think it was appropriate to take a young girl into his hotel room in a town where everybody knew everybody.

She hadn't thought of it like that before and she wished he hadn't said it. She didn't see what they had as sordid or dirty. He made her feel alive and clever and cosmopolitan. He asked for her opinions on world events and literature and poetry and _listened_. He really listened to her and it was beautiful.

What Alison had said that weekend made her hopeful. She might be able to convince Raymond after all. It was just a small town mentality, she thought scathingly. If they lived in Paris or even New York, this sort of relationship would be so commonplace. Her mind shied away from the fact that she had no evidence for this at all.

He had been away for days now but had promised her he'd be waiting for her after school.

She shouldered her bag, eagerly making her way out the front door of the school when she heard her friend calling her.

“Hey Liz!” Rob boomed down the corridor. “Alison says to tell you we’re going to the mall and maybe catch a movie. Wanna come?”

She bit her lip. “I can't, sorry,” she said weakly, guilty at how feeble she was appearing to them. She turned and fled without staying to give an explanation.

She almost ran down the street, so eager was she to see him again. She jumped into the car, into his arms, some of her uneasiness at blowing off her friends leaving her immediately as she kissed him. He kissed her back, his lips seeking her out fervently.

“Did you bring me anything?” She asked impishly. It was her usual question to him when he came back from one of his business trips.

He chuckled. “Just myself,” he said in response, as always. “That enough?”

She smiled, clinging to him, wrapping her arms around his neck and touching his forehead to hers. “Hey, you know what would be fun?” She said lightly, rubbing her nose against his, “let's go see a movie.”

All the pleasure at seeing her again slowly leeched from his face. Up close as she was, it was shocking to see. It hit her hard in the chest, practically winding her. “It's okay,” she said quickly. “Where did you go this time? Are you jet lagged?”

He looked at her for a moment, as if considering his words carefully. “Singapore,” he said quietly. “And yes, probably a little bit but I wanted to see you.”

Her lower lip trembled. Why did she feel so sad? He just didn't want to see a movie, that was all.

He made a hungry noise in his throat suddenly, taking her bottom lip gently between his teeth, and sucking on it, as if to distract her. She let him. She wasn't distracted but she wasn't about to push the issue. She swallowed a lump in her throat. It probably wasn't the time to ask him again about telling her friends.

“Maybe we could go for a drive to the creek,” he said slyly.

“We could do that,” she agreed, smiling at him.

 

* * *

 

“How was school?” He asked, slipping his hand into hers as they walked along the dirt track that ran parallel to the fast running creek.

“It was alright I guess,” she said, kicking up a branch lying across the path. “I’ve got a lot of assignments creeping up on me this week. And I’m thinking about joining the debate team.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. She wanted him to be proud of her. Her grades had been so bad for the past few months that it was actually a challenge to get back into the habit of regular study.

“Oh, I was captain of the debate team,” he said approvingly, squeezing her hand. “You’ll love it Lizzie, it’s right up your alley. Looks great on your college applications, too.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And you know, I might want to go into law. It’d be good practice.”

“Well that's a change. Only a little while ago you wanted to be a criminal profiler. Perhaps I shouldn't be surprised though. You do like to argue,” he said, giving her a sidelong look that she returned with a cheeky grin. “What area of law?” He inquired.

“I’d want to be a prosecutor,” she said confidently. “Can you imagine taking down organized crime syndicates? I’d be in the papers.”

He chuckled, slowing to a stop in the middle of the path. “I can, Lizzie, I can imagine big, bad criminals just _dreading_ seeing you in a courtroom.”  He took her by her shoulders and kissed her, soft and slow, his hands lazily running down her arms.

She was gasping like a fish out of water when he let her go. “Let’s find our bench,” she said breathlessly. “You’re making me dizzy.”

He seemed so happy again, so relaxed when he was just with her. They sat on what she privately thought of as their ‘special seat’, just a faded, old wooden bench really. But it was quiet and private. No one ever came there. The water rushed by in the creek, bubbling up over rocks, the sound of it soothing her like a caress from his hand would.

He kissed her for what seemed like hours. He was very careful not to leave marks on her face or neck but sometimes she felt her lips were so bruised and swollen that _someone_ must notice at school the next day. No one ever did though.

He groaned, pulling away. His hands had crept under her shirt, running up and down her back and he had unclasped her bra. She felt a thrill of anticipation for a moment. Was he going to touch her without her bra on?

But no. He half turned away, a strained expression on his face. “Turn around Lizzie, let me fix that,” he said. “I shouldn’t have...just turn around.”

She turned around, allowing him to fix her bra. She was disappointed. _It’s not like he can get me pregnant just by touching me_ , she thought in frustration.

“There,” he said softly, “Let me see your pretty face again.” He chucked her under the chin as she turned around to him.

She was still tingling and throbbing and wanting but his body language was closed off to her. He was sitting straight, facing the water, only his head turned to her, a faint smile on his lips. He reached a hand to touch her face again. “Gentle maiden,“ he murmured.

“What?”

“Oh just a poem brought to mind.” He looked away, craning his neck to gaze at the sky as he recited. “I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, thou needest not fear mine, my spirit is too deeply laden, ever to burden thine.” He licked his lips and glanced down at her continuing, “I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion, thou needest not fear mine, innocent is the heart’s devotion, with which I worship thine.” He swallowed and sighed shakily, still looking at her.

She’d been smiling the whole time. “I know that. It’s Shelley right?”

He huffed a laugh. “Yes it is, clever girl. A man far, far before his time. A political radical. It was he who influenced the likes of Henry David Thoreau and Ghandi.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “he wrote _The Mask of Anarchy_. It’s my favorite text on nonviolent resistance.”

He shot her an odd look. “You have a favorite text on nonviolent resistance, do you?” He leaned into her, kissing her briefly on the lips, then stood and stretched his hands out for her. She took his hands and he pulled her into his embrace. “I shouldn’t be surprised really,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “It’s time to get you home, don’t you think?”

She sighed regretfully, laying her head on his chest. These afternoons with Raymond always seemed to fly far too quickly. “I suppose so.”

He took her hand again. “Come on, we’ve got quite a walk to the car. You can tell me who your favorite poet is.”

Well there was a little time left. She stole a glance at his profile as they walked hand in hand back along the path. There was a warm glow of contentment in her chest. It was wonderful to have someone special to talk to.

 

* * *

The next day _all_ she wanted to do was talk to him. She was so indignant, she didn’t even think of kissing. She wanted to march. She’d come barreling into his car, guns blazing, the events of her school day bursting from her.

“...and they won’t let us organize a protest after school. They said it’s not becoming to the reputation of the school. As if we’d be running around rioting or something!”

She was furious, but Ray would understand. He had breathtaking insight into these types of things. Insights not always welcome, if she were honest. He never let go of a challenge if he didn't agree with her or wanted her to see something from a different angle.

“Do you have any idea the damage rogue arms dealers are doing in Eastern Europe at the moment? They need to be stopped. The U.N. needs to do something! I just can’t believe NATO. We’re basically committing war crimes, Raymond!”

He gave her the strangest look. Like he’d eaten something bad and his stomach was troubling him. “Lizzie, it’s not always that simple. Just be grateful the arms dealers aren’t selling to the Serbians.”

“They probably are you know,” she shot back. “We need to be looking at diplomatic solutions, not contributing to the violence in Kosovo.”

“Hmm, possibly, but you might find there are one or two of these arms dealers who, while they operate outside international law have _some_ ethical standards or at least a sense of self preservation.” He sighed. “It’s a bad business Lizzie but I believe someone needs to make the hard choices. In any conflict, both sides are always going to commit atrocities. We’re all just savages...savages with dangerous tools.”

Her forehead puckered. “So you’re saying it’s okay to let criminals just waltz on over and sell weapons to whomever they like? To continue a war where we've killed civilians, even children. _We_ , not just them. This is our mess.”

He looked at her sharply. “The belief that your government can be relied upon to do the right thing is touching, but naive I'm afraid. Sometimes it's the rogue element that gets the job done.”

Her frown deepened. He made some distressing arguments. She would have to think on it for a while.

“Wait, you mean our government right? You're a citizen, too.”

He rubbed his thumb across her cheek, scattering her thoughts. “Why do you wear that cheap glitter gel on your face?”

She blinked. “I don't know, because it’s cool?”

He snorted, “It smells odd.”

“You don't want me to wear it anymore?” She asked anxiously.

“Oh, by all means, if you enjoy smelling like a glue factory, do continue,” he said, his teasing smile lessening the impact of his words.

Still, if he didn't like it, she wouldn't wear it anymore, she decided, her thoughts temporarily derailed.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes a storm in the form of a girl  
> She's the finest sweetest thing in the world  
> I'll go to heaven tonight for what you are  
> ~ "Heaven Tonight, Hole"

* * *

 

“So, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ then," her teacher said as the bell rang shrilly overhead and her classmates scrambled for their things and started to leave the room in a rush. “I want you to read the book and I'll be dividing you into small groups to pick a topic to discuss and present to the class.” Most of them had heard. Lizzie heard. She picked her things up slowly, thinking about the topic she wanted to talk about. She'd already read the book and would read it again for the class. This could be interesting, she mused.

She caught up with Alison between classes at her friends locker. “Hey Liz! Wait 'til Rob swings past. He's got something to ask you,” Alison said with a grin.

“What?” She asked curiously. She'd been over at Rob’s house that weekend. He'd had a party for his sixteenth. It actually had been kind of nice. She'd met some other kids from her school and some of Rob's basketball friends. No one had given her weird looks or whispered behind her back and she’d been quietly happy to mix with kids who didn’t know her yet.

Rob was striding toward them down the hall. He met Alison with a surreptitious peck on the lips after looking down the hall both ways for observant teachers. No displays of affection allowed in the hallways. He turned to greet Lizzie with a grin. “Hey Liz, what did you think of Matt on Saturday?”

“Uh, the guy from St. Peters? I dunno, he's...tall? He seems nice.”

The exuberant grin faltered a little but he continued. “Well he likes you. You were talking to him about the hiking trip you and your dad were thinking of doing? He's super into hiking. He likes sporty girls I guess. He wanted your number. You interested?” Rob asked, the grin back on his face.

She looked from one friend to the other, stunned. “In me? Does he know what-” she stopped, angry at herself. The rumors weren't true and it had been ages since Tricia had spread them. Only a couple of people still gave her weird looks in the halls and a few nasty boys cat called her when no teachers were about. It was kind of sad, she thought, that she was still ashamed of those rumors. She hadn't done anything to earn them.

“Yeah well,” Rob began, shouldering his backpack, his grin completely gone, “I’m not going to tell him. It's bullshit anyway,” he looked uncertainly between Lizzie and Alison. “Isn't it?”

Alison scowled, punching her boyfriend in the arm. “I've known Liz since we were kids. And she’s your friend now too. You should know better than to ask that.”

He looked shamefacedly at Lizzie. “Sorry Liz, ignore me.”

She raised an eyebrow, “yeah, I will,” she said dryly.

Classes dragged on the rest of the day. She was so impatient for school to end. She had tennis and then Raymond was picking her up at the courts after school. She thought about Rob's friend with a guilty little thrill as she walked to her next class with Alison. She wasn't interested at all but it was nice to know that a boy liked her. Even if her heart was completely full with Ray. It made her feel confident and pretty.

“So, do you think you'll say yes?” Asked Alison curiously.

“Ah, to be honest, I've got a lot going on right now. When would I even seen him? He goes to another school,” she said nervously, hoping this would be enough to put her friend off.

“Yeah, but he's a senior and he has a car, at least that's what Rob said.” She elbowed Lizzie. “C’mon Lizzie, we could go on double dates. He's really cool. Rob says he's an amazing basketball player and a really good sport too.”

“I dunno,” she said uneasily. “Just let me think about it okay?”

Damn. Why had she said that?

She walked to the tennis courts after school. They weren't far at all. It was hard to remember that only a few weeks ago she had quit tennis and everything seemed like the worst mess in the world. She _lived_ for her tennis game. She always lost herself in the rhythm of the game, the only dance she knew. How could she have been ready to give this up? The intensity, the sweat running down her forehead and between her eyes, the feel of her shoes against the ground as she moved, her body arching toward the ball, her powerful swing connecting with that satisfying thud.

They were working on the topspin lob today. She couldn’t wait to get started. She was partnered up with Briony, a girl who had been coming to tennis almost as long as she had.

“Okay girls,” said Joanna, her instructor. “Last week we were talking about the topspin lob. This week we’re going to practice…”

Joanna’s voice faded out as she found herself daydreaming a little bit about Raymond. He’d prodded her about her stance on pacifism the other day and she’d been thinking a lot about it. He made some good points but they troubled her.

“Liz, what was I just saying?”

 _Crap, what had she just been saying?_ “Ah, one way you can...use it is as... a two shot combination?” She ventured, fairly sure she was right.

Joanna frowned. “Yes, that's right. Come up here then and you can demonstrate,” she said.

It was a good lesson all in all. Joanna generally tried to catch her out not paying attention but it rarely worked. She smiled to herself as she went to the locker room after her lesson to collect her things.

She didn't change out of her tennis uniform afterwards because Ray had previously asked her not to. She'd playfully accused him of wanting a poor man's cheerleader's uniform in the back of his car. He'd vehemently denied it.

She slipped onto the leather upholstered seats of his car, her bare thighs sweaty with exertion, sticking slightly to the seat underneath her pleated tennis skirt.  She pulled her tennis racquet under the seat in front of her and turned to the man sitting patiently across from her.

“Good lesson?” He inquired as the car pulled away from the curb.

“Yeah, I did pretty well today. My instructor hates me but that’s because I...” she stopped.

“You what?” He prompted.

She smiled uneasily. “I’m a smart ass who doesn't listen to authority and I’m too aggressive for the other kids,” she recited as though reading from a report card. “I get good grades though. Teachers like me,” she grinned winningly.

He smirked, a knowing look on his face. “You _did_ get good grades. They’ve been slipping though.”

The smile disappeared from her face. “How did you know that?”

“I told you before,” he said, reaching for her and pulling her awkwardly on top of him so that her bare legs were straddling his lap. “I find you to be _fascinating_. I want to know everything about you.”

Her heart fluttered at his hooded look. He licked his lips, gazing at her intently. She felt butterflies in her tummy. She could feel him beneath her, the only thing separating them was his fine woolen pants and her thin cotton panties.

“I’ve been working to get them up again though. Ask me about my grades in a month,” she said confidently. “It’ll be a different story then.” She reached a finger to trace the outline of his lips, the butterflies in her tummy increasing when he nipped at her finger.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

She hesitated. “Where are we going first?” She asked.

“Anywhere you like,” he purred.

She lowered her head, tentatively brushing her lips against his. Slowly, he’d said, it’s not a race. He was so patient with her, gently taking her anxious schoolgirl embrace and turning it into something glorious. She’d never felt that way before. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, savoring his breath. “Somewhere...private,” she murmured.

He groaned. “Not too private, sweetheart. You make me want...more than I can have.”

Here it was. The perfect opportunity to tell him. What if he rejected her after all? He might not want to make love to a virgin. What if he did and he hated it?

All these thoughts rolled through her head, a million miles a minute. She ignored them. “I went to the doctor last week,” she blurted.

His head tilted to look at her, a slight frown of concern on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I mean, I went to get birth control. I’m using birth control now.”

He pulled back, the atmosphere between them changing suddenly. Her stomach dropped. Was he angry with her? Her throat was dry, far too dry to say anything else.

He looked searchingly at her for the longest time, his jaw twitching a little. The frown hadn't left his face. His expression hardened, as though he were coming to a private decision. “You want to have intercourse,” he said silkily, a statement, not a question.

She winced. “That’s not a very romantic way to put it,” she ventured.

“But that’s what you want?” He pressed.

“If...it’s what you want.” She fixed her eyes on a point on the back windscreen, humiliation washing over her. _Oh my god,_ she thought. _He’s going to say no, he’s going to reject me._

He pulled her against him so suddenly, she gasped.

Burying his head between her small breasts, he laughed, a hard little laugh, not his usual warm chuckle. “I’m a bastard, Lizzie,” he whispered, “because I can't say no to that.”

“No,” she said shakily, “No, you’re not. I want this. I don’t want to say no either.”

He sighed, raising his head to look at her. “I have two tickets to the U.S. Open, I was going to give them to you, I was going to suggest that you take Sam. Will you take me instead? It’s two weekends from now. We can stay the night in my favorite hotel…” his voice trailed off, waiting for her reaction.

“The U.S. Open?” She squealed happily. “Are you kidding me? That’s amazing!” She stopped. “You want to take me to a hotel?” She inquired shyly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m certainly not going to allow your first time to be in the back of a car,” he said archly. He stroked her arm, his eyes clouding with thought. “It’s better this way,” he murmured as though trying to convince himself. “I can make it so special for you. Better than any teenage boy could.”

* * *

 

The front door slammed. She winced, if her dad was home he-

“Lizzie! Quit slamming the front door. I don't think it can withstand much more teenage angst,” her dad called out from the kitchen.

Yup, he was home.

“Hi dad,” she called back, dumping her school bag and tennis racquet on a chair and heading through the hallway into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

He turned from the stove to smile at her. “Sloppy Joes, he said, tipping a mouthful of mince into his mouth from the wooden spoon in his hand. “Mmm, needs more...I don't know, can’t seem to ever get it the way my mother made it,” he said mournfully.

She laughed. “I like what you cook, dad.”

He paused, eyeing her suspiciously. “You’re in a complimentary mood today. Something good happen?”

“No,” she said offhandedly. “We’re practicing some more advanced stuff at tennis. It was fun. I was the best at it.”

“Hmm,” he said, watching her flop into a chair at the kitchen table and sprawl out comfortably. “Up you get, you can set the table, butterball.”

She sighed, heaving herself up again and walked over to the cutlery drawer, rattling around in it with her back to her him. “Dad,” she said. “How do you feel about me going camping with Rob’s family, two weekends from now? Alison is going.”

“Rob...that boy you said Alison has been seeing?”

“Yeah, remember I went to his party? His family’s really nice and I just thought…” She let the sentence taper off as she busied herself with setting the table. She didn't look at him, couldn't look at him. She felt terribly guilty but there was no way he could find out about Raymond. He’d go nuts.

“Well I suppose that’s fine. Two weekends from now did you say?”

“Yeah,” she said, handing him plates to serve the Sloppy Joe’s up on. “I could just go with them straight from school on Friday. Beat the traffic.”

“Sure,” he said, staring at the mince in the pan. “Do you think it could have been nutmeg I’m missing?”

She laughed. “Dad, since when was asking me about cooking a good idea?”

* * *

 

She didn't usually scope out her surroundings after school when she’d meet with Raymond but the next day she did. A guilty conscience she supposed. She looked behind her and to each side before she got in the car to be met with his amused expression.

“Who’s following you? Special agents?” He teased.

“No, I just feel weird about this...I kinda told my dad I was going camping with Alison and Rob and Rob’s family.”

A weird spasm of unhappiness crossed his face. She tensed. He wasn't going to change his mind was he?

“I regret the lying,” he said formally. “And it's not something I wish to encourage between you and your father.”

“But,” she prompted anxiously.

He folded his lips for a moment, giving her a weird sensation as though she was talking to her father. “But,” he acknowledged, “you can't really be any safer than when you’re with me.” He shot her a stern look. “I don't want to hear about other lying or bad behavior for any reason, Lizzie.”

She gave him a confused look. “How would you even hear-oh,” she said as he grasped her chin in his hand, pulling her gently forward so that their lips were almost touching.

“I would just know,” he said, puffs of his soft breath on her face with every word he spoke. She closed her eyes, waiting for him to kiss her. But he didn’t. Her eyelids fluttered open again. He still had her chin gently by the hand but he was just staring at her as though he were memorizing the planes of her face.

Apparently he was.

“I have to go,” he said roughly. “I have business I’ve been neglecting. I won’t be back until I come to take you to New York, I’m afraid.” He looked at her regretfully.

She wilted. “Two weeks is a long time,” she said, reaching her hands to cup his cheeks. “Are you sure you need to go? You only just got back,” she said coaxingly.

“I’m afraid so, Lizzie.” He smiled at her. “It’ll go fast, before you know it I’ll be whisking you away for an exciting weekend in New York. I have everything planned.”

“I’ll miss you,” she said softly, her thoughts on the next two weeks.

He reached for her greedily. “Why don't you show me how much you’ll miss me,” he said, a provocative expression on his face.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll tell you something  
> I am a wolf but  
> I like to wear sheep's clothing  
> ~ "Temptation Waits, Garbage"

* * *

 

“You have a jet,” she said weakly, her overnight bag falling to the floor from her nerveless fingers as she stared at the small plane. They’d just stepped out of the car. She wasn't sure what she’d expected. Perhaps business class seats to New York? But his own personal jet?

He walked further into the hangar, scooping up her forgotten bag for her. “I do,” he said happily.

“Chartered?”

“Oh no, all mine,” he said, sounding a bit smug about it too.

“So...what kind of business...are you in?”

“Exports, imports, shipping, mining,” he rattled off, “just to name a few.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, already halfway up the ramp. She hadn’t moved, rooted to the spot. “Are you coming?”

She forced her legs to move. “Yeah, I’m coming,” she said. What exactly had she gotten herself into? She’d known he was wealthy simply from the way he dressed and the chauffeur and constant car changes. But she hadn’t realised the magnitude of his wealth. She wasn't enjoying the tight, uneasy feeling in her chest. As though she might have done something foolish.

Had she?

“We’ll arrive at around seven thirty,” he said. “Depending on how you feel, we could go out for a bite to eat when we get there or I can order room service.”

He was waiting expectantly for her answer but she was too dumbfounded by the interior of the jet to speak. She wandered up and down the cabin, marveling at the space, running her hands over the leather seats. There was a narrow, pull-out bed on one side of the cabin. Her eyes flew to his face.

Her thoughts must have been clear because he raised an eyebrow mockingly and shook his head as he dumped their bags on the floor of the cabin. “No, Lizzie, I have something far better planned...although…” He grinned at her, “if you particularly wanted to join the mile high club I suppose…” he let his sentence trail off suggestively.

She felt her cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he said affectionately, watching her struggle with what to say next. “I've missed you. Come here,” he asked, stretching his arms out for her. She threw herself into his embrace, quite happy to hide her face in the crook of his arm until her flush settled down.

“Lizzie, sit,” he said, guiding her to a seat and sitting next to her. “I need to talk to you about something.”

She tensed. “What is it?”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes traveling across her face as though he were looking for a clue to something. “Do you still want to have sex this weekend,” he asked. His words jarred in her ears.

Why couldn't he say make love?

She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she said.

He nodded, his lips quirked upwards. “I'll need to see your birth control please.”

She sat there for a second, processing his request. “Oh, okay.” She fumbled with her bag, pulling the blister pack of pills from a side pocket and handing them to him.

He examined them closely. “And you take one each day at the same time?

_Oh wow, this is awkward_ , she thought.

He had a lot of questions.

_How long exactly since she started taking them?_

_Had she been ill or on antibiotics since taking them?_

_Had she missed a pill?_

_When was her last period? (Oh god)._

“Lizzie,” he said, almost formally. “I'm clean, I have myself tested very regularly. Would you allow me to forego using a condom? It's up to you, of course.”

She didn't know where to look. He was talking about condoms for god's sake. With a straight face! “Yeah,” she said nonchalantly. “Of course,” _anything to finish talking about this please_ , she begged silently.

Thankfully he’d left it at that. She was just grateful that he hadn't tried any funny business on the plane because she had NOT been in the mood.

He’d picked her bag up for her as they departed the jet, cocking his head to the side, examining it thoughtfully. “Light traveler are we?”

“Well it's only two nights,” she said defensively, “and anyway, your bag’s no bigger than mine.”

He laughed, “My things are already at the hotel. This bag,” he said, patting his own duffel bag and handing it off to a man in a suit waiting on the tarmac, “is business related.”

She followed behind him closely, feeling very much like Liz from hicktown, Nebraska as they got into another car.

“Do you want to freshen up at the hotel or go straight to dinner?” he asked.

“Dinner’s fine,” she said in a subdued voice, craning her neck to watch the city lights and the crowds of people flashing past her window. She was struck by a huge billboard advertising a broadway show in neon lights when she felt his hand gently close around hers.

She turned to look at him. He was watching her steadily from under his sandy eyelashes.  “Would you like to see the city after dinner? It’s such a short trip, I won’t be able to show you everything that I want to but perhaps we can come back another time.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly.

“Sure, can we go to the Guggenheim?”

“Closed for the night, I’m afraid.”

“Statue of Liberty?”

He shot her a look, “also closed.”

She felt bad for him. He was trying to do something fun with her and she was lucking out on all her picks. “Okay, can we go see Times Square?” She ventured.

He brightened. “Yes we can. Want to walk over the Brooklyn Bridge as well?”

She grinned. “Yes! Where are we going for dinner though?”

“Well,” he began enthusiastically, “funny story. I was in Israel a few years back for something or another and I had the privilege of meeting a young Palestinian cook by the name of Mahmoud. He was stuck smack bang in the middle of hostile territory. Terribly awkward situation for him. It just so happened that I had a friend, Enoch, who was willing to smuggle him out of there, in an old carpet.” Raymond beamed at her as though she were actually following the point to his story. “Anyhoo, long story short, Mahmoud fell violently in love with Enoch’s daughter, Alva, and as it turned out, she returned his feelings with interest. She swapped places with the driver of the van that was supposed to be taking him to the border. Enoch blamed me for introducing them so of course I had to head on out of there quickly. They’re a real Romeo and Juliet if ever there was any such couple. They’ve lived happily in America for the past four years now selling the most authentic Israeli-Palestinian food you’ll ever lay eyes on.”

She blinked, only really starting to follow him at the very end. “So we’re having Israeli-Palestinian food?”

“What? Oh no, Mahmoud and Alva introduced me to a friend of theirs, Akash, he runs a fabulous little Indian restaurant around the corner from them. And I'm _dying_ for a papadum.” He grinned at her.

He told her stories the rest of the night.

About the taxi driver who was some obscure royalty he’d befriended while stuck in traffic over the Brooklyn Bridge. Raymond had felt he could assist with the restoration of the taxi driver’s fortunes and now he was a landed gentleman in some far off crumbling estate in Eastern Europe.

“Seems like an awful lot of bother,” she said, leaning out over the bridge, taking in the stupendous view. “Why did you do it? I mean it was nice and all…”

“Aha, Lizzie, never underestimate the currency of favors. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours,” he said, slipping an arm around her small waist. “It's how the world works. As it happens, that gentleman has a very large family right here in New York and it's always handy to have people on the payroll who have a very personal reason to be grateful.”

“Do you employ a lot of people?” She asked curiously. He really hadn't said much at all about his business. It must be very large and involved.

“Oh, a few,” he said absently, “I wish we had more time Lizzie. I'd love to take you to a Broadway show…”

They wandered into Central Park a few hours later, keeping to the well lit path. He had an arm low around her waist and his pace was slow and lazy, he was enjoying their walk around town as much as she was, bringing out a story for almost everything they saw. He stopped and turned to her in the shadow of a clump of trees. She could see his face in the light of the street lamps lining the walkway, the tenderest of expressions shining from his eyes.

“Lizzie, let me kiss you,” he whispered in that voice he reserved especially for her.

It was quiet and lovely and so romantic, she thought. The way he made her feel. She vaguely felt his hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He was whispering pretty things into her ear, suckling her earlobe and pressing a line of kisses along her jaw.

She shivered in delight. This was what she wanted from him. More of this.

It was past midnight before she admitted that she was starting to flag, earning herself scandalised censure. “Lizzie,” he protested, “we haven’t even looked at the Empire State Building yet. Are you sure you’re done for tonight? Where's your stamina?”

She grabbed at his coat, burying her face in his chest and mewled her displeasure at the idea of staying out one moment longer. She didn't tell him that she wasn't used to staying up this late, even on weekends. Her dad enforced a fairly strict curfew.

He laughed teasingly but took her to the hotel. There were very few people in the lobby at that late hour of the night. She found herself staring as they walked through to the elevator. Her eyes bugged out a little at her plush surroundings. There was an insane amount of gold brocade on the upholstery and the chandelier dangling from the ceiling in the middle of that grand space was intimidating, washing the lobby with golden light. She wondered perversely what would happen if it crashed to the ground. She imagined the pink marble flooring smashing up into a million pieces under the weight of that monstrosity.  

The concierge met them halfway to the elevator, a bland smile on his face. He was a tall, middle aged man with sandy hair and rough, sun darkened skin. He looked like he’d been a sailor in a past life and had traded in the rigours of the sea for the unique challenges of hospitality.  He focused on Raymond, his eyes sliding over her as though she wasn't there. She wondered curiously why that was.

“Sir, lovely to see you again,” he began in an obsequious tone, “Your luggage has been sent upstairs. Can I arrange for anything else?”

“No thank you, Bartholomew,” he said airily, palming a sizable tip into the concierge’s hand and sliding his arm around her, pulling her close. She glanced up at him to catch an oddly defiant look on his face. The concierge looked away briefly as though he found it difficult to hold Raymond’s stare.

“Very good, Sir. Your usual breakfast, would you like it sent up at the regular time?”

“No, thank you, that won't be necessary tomorrow morning,” he responded coolly, entering the elevator.

Her hand snuck into his. She felt out of place once again and finding herself in this imposing hotel was reminding her of why they had come here in the first place. She wondered nervously what was going to happen when they got to their suite.

“No breakfast tomorrow?” She asked as the elevator doors closed, leaving them alone.

His eyes brightened. “I’m having some pastries from my favorite bakery in New York delivered. You’ll love it,” he promised.

They entered the suite quietly. He didn't wait for her to get her bearings, just busying himself with doing a quick sweep of the rooms. She watched him, flabbergasted at this new behavior. “You looking for something?” She asked.

He didn't answer her, disappearing into one of the bedrooms briefly, coming out again with a satisfied expression. “I’m very particular about my rooms,” he said by way of explanation.

Okay then.

He finally noticed that she was still standing awkwardly by the entrance, her hands clasped together in front of her. She found herself stroking her scar lightly to ease her nerves.

He gave her a darkly knowledgeable look full of amusement. “Would you like a tour?” He asked innocently.

Her eyes flickered across the suite. There was a large living room, decorated in cool greens and blues, accentuated by the pale glow of lamplight. The living room led through to two rooms, side by side. She walked through to where he stood, at the entrance to one of the bedrooms. She stuck her head in and had a quick look, noticing her things had been laid neatly out on the king size bed.

Her eyes suddenly stung and she felt an overwhelming desire to curl up in bed. She looked back at him, blinking wearily. She must have looked as tired as she felt because his expression softened. He touched her cheek gently, rubbing his thumb along her jaw. “Bedtime Lizzie,” he said, his voice a caress.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and steered her into the bedroom. “You’ll sleep here tonight. We can talk about sleeping arrangements for tomorrow night later. I’ll be in the other room sweetheart, is that fine with you?”

She nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open as he placed a kiss on her forehead and turned to leave the room.

 

* * *

 

She woke up late to find an impatient Raymond pacing the living room floor, unwilling to disturb her rest but looking forward to having her try the pastries that had been delivered.

His eyes brightened as she exited the bedroom, clad in a light blue pajama top and long cotton pants. “Good morning sleepyhead,” he said jovially, his eyes greedily following her as she smiled and crossed the floor, twitching a heavy curtain aside and looking out the window.

“I can't believe I’m in New York,” she said in happy amazement. “How far up are we? I can see everything!”

“Well you’d better eat and enjoy the view at the same time,” he said, sitting down on the sofa and breaking apart a croissant. “We should be able to do the sightseeing you wanted to do before lunch and back to the hotel to change if we hurry.”

She sat on the sofa across from him. He watched her eat. She looked up to find his eyes on her. “What?” She asked in confusion.

“Oh nothing, it’s just entrancing seeing things from your eyes, Lizzie,” he said, his eyes soft. “I could take you everywhere and live every experience all over again as though I were seeing it all for the first time. Part of me wants to.”

She grinned. “Does this mean you’re taking me to Paris?”

His eyebrows shot up, a look of eagerness flowing across his face. “You want to go?”

She paused, an apricot danish halfway to her lips. “I don’t...know. How would I convince dad?”

He gathered himself, his expression masklike. “You’re right of course. Perhaps when you’re older,” he said.

She hadn't thought of that. When she was older. Things would be so different when she went to college. She smiled happily to herself.

They barely had time but she _had_ wanted to see the Empire State Building before lunch.

“Oh my god, Ray,” she breathed, standing on the observation deck, looking out at what seemed like the whole world.

“Now, _this_ ,” he said, grinning beside her, “Is where you can see everything.”

There wasn't much more time for sightseeing save for a brief stroll along Fifth Avenue, then it was back to the hotel to dress for the fancy restaurant Raymond had picked.

She flung her jeans and t-shirt off and shimmied into the little black dress that she’d brought along with her, then carefully applied makeup in front of her bathroom mirror. She wondered what he would wear and if it would in any way match her clothes. He always wore the most tasteful suits. She already knew she didn't really have much chance of looking like she belonged where he was taking her.

He wore a lightweight, brown sports coat over a cream linen shirt, the top button carelessly undone. The coat matched his beige slacks. He looked so casual yet well put together. He was examining the records stored beside the old record player in the living room when she popped her head in after getting dressed to look at him. She scanned the room, waiting for him to notice her. Her polyester, black, halter neck dress was nice enough, flaring at the hips and stopping just above her knees. But nice enough maybe wasn’t good enough, she thought anxiously taking in his well tailored clothing.

“Ray?”

He turned around, the enthusiastic expression wiped off his face as he caught sight of her. "No," he said. "No, no, no" he repeated firmly, reaching for a tissue from a box on the coffee table. "Come here, let me take that off your face.”

“What?”

He grasped her jaw in his hand, swiping at her crimson lips with the tissue. "Far too much make-up for a girl of your age," he said, irritated.

“But I thought,” she sputtered as he smeared the lipstick, “I thought you didn't like me wearing glittery kids make up? What’s wrong with this? I’ve been practicing to get it right.”

“You look lovely without makeup. You don't need any with your beautiful skin,” he said reassuringly, running his hands over her face as if to check it was still her. He kissed her gently on the lips. “C’mon, sweetheart, we don't want to be late for our lunch reservation.”

She smirked. “Why do I get the feeling you’re the kind of guy that they hold the table for anyway?”

He laughed darkly, seizing her hand and pulling her out the front door of the suite, into the hall. “You’re an observant little thing, aren’t you.”

The restaurant was lovely, fine dining at its most elegant. And it terrified her.

“I feel like I should have worn a different dress,” she said, looking dubiously around her at the throng of diners. Everyone was dressed so expensively in well cut lines and fabrics. She looked down at their table. The starched, white tablecloth was probably worth more than the dress she was wearing.

Raymond eyed her with a delicately raised eyebrow. “You look lovely, but if it concerns you, we may be able to fit in some shopping before the tennis this afternoon.”

“No, it’s fine...unless we’re coming here again?” She inquired anxiously.

She was amusing him, she could see that. But she hadn't expected to be doing anything but go to the tennis and...well she was nervous enough already. She wouldn't think about anything else, she decided.

“We won’t be,” he said. “I had another reservation elsewhere for dinner but perhaps I could take you to a little hole-in-the-wall pizza place I know of instead. The owner and I have done business together before. His mother’s quite fond of me,” he said a little smugly. “His pizza is so good Lizzie, I won’t eat it anywhere else in the country.” He nodded decisively as the waiter approached. “Yes, we’ll go there.”

He ordered for her and she was far too intimidated and awkward to protest, although she did feel a small twinge of annoyance.

“Are you alright?” He asked as their meals were presented to them.

She nodded but didn't make a move to eat. He waited for her, fork raised. Her eyes darted from one piece of shining silver cutlery to another. All so delicate and so many of them. Which one?

“You start from the outside and work your way in,” he offered discreetly from the corner of his mouth, as though he were surreptitiously handing her the answers to a test while the teacher wasn't looking.”

“Thanks,” she whispered back gratefully, scooping up her fork.

He took a bite of his risotto. “Really, I’d have thought your grandmother would have brought you up on Emily Post. I’m surprised.”

She stared. “When did I ever tell you about my grandma?”

He cleared his throat. “You’ve mentioned her,” he said smoothly. “It’s not inconceivable that she would have wanted to help, given Sam wasn't married and you didn't really have a maternal figure in your life.”

“I guess,” she said cautiously. “It’s weird how spot-on that is though. I never got to see her that much before she died because she lived so far away but dad says she was crazy about Emily Post’s etiquette book and church on Sundays. She wore a hat apparently, every Sunday. It had this huge bunch of plastic cherries on it. I’ve seen pictures.”

She shared a grin with him as he chuckled. “You know Lizzie, I can just _see_ it. It’s like I’m there. Mrs. Scott and her kids, June and Sam.” He sighed, almost a little sadly.

“Did you...did you have an interesting upbringing,” she asked tentatively.

“Not at all,” he said cheerfully. “It was embarrassingly pedestrian as a matter of fact. I had a revoltingly healthy childhood and youth. Only child with two wonderful parents who deserved a far better son than they were saddled with,” he grinned at her, stealing a forkful of food from her plate.

“Hey!”

“Too slow!”

She glared at him in mock anger, circling her plate with her arm protectively. “This is so good, I’m not sharing.”

He smiled fondly. “Well you’d better hurry up then or we'll miss the tennis.”

_Oh yeah_ , she thought. _The tennis_. She’d remembered only once so far that she was going to the U.S. Open. Spending time with Raymond was fast becoming the main event of this trip. She smiled back at him.

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The minute you think you know you got it  
> Is the minute you know it's gone for good  
> The second you pause his claws are on it  
> The tiger inside will eat the child  
> ~ "The Tiger Inside Will Eat the Child, Kate Miller Heidke"

* * *

 

Lizzie's favorite, Martina Hingis was playing and it was an intense game against newcomer Serena Williams. Her eyes were glued to the court as she gripped the edges of her green plastic chair in the stands. Raymond sat straight backed beside her, watching her face more often than he watched the activity below in the court. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, just watching her. She threw him a smile, wondering if he was enjoying himself as much as she was.

And oh she was. The mood was electric, she found herself swaying in time to the sound of the ball thwacking against each player’s racquet. “Oh god, what an angle,” she whispered as the crowd cheered wildly, celebrating Serena Williams’ win.  Her idol had lost but what a game! And then there was so much noise as the fans roiled in their seats, cheering and stamping their feet. Serena was clutching at her heart, overcome with emotion, a huge grin on her face and although Lizzie had been barracking for Martina, she couldn't help but grin too. She watched excitedly as Serena went to accept her silver trophy. The crowd around her was screaming so loudly that she covered her ears at one point. She felt Raymond tugging at her hand. He was saying something but she couldn't hear him over all the noise. He stood from his seat and turned to go so she followed him, scooping up her empty soda can, slightly disappointed to be leaving straight away. She kept looking back to catch a glimpse of the winner down on the court.

“Wow, just wow,” she kept saying breathlessly, taking his hand and allowing herself to be led. He took her up some stairs and down a corridor. “Where are we going?” She asked. They were far away from the crowds of fans now and it looked like they were heading to some sort of private lounge. A middle aged man with a pot belly and a bald spot exited from the lounge and came over to them, his face breaking out into a friendly grin. “Raymond! My good friend! It has been too long!” He said, taking Raymond into a gruff and good natured embrace.

“Kamil, it _has_ been too long indeed,” he smiled warmly at the older man. He turned to Lizzie, taking her arm and bringing her forward. “May I introduce you to Elizabeth? She's quite the tennis player herself and Martina is a bit of a hero.”

Kamil nodded at her genially and shook her hand.

“Lizzie,” Raymond continued, “Kamil has the good fortune to be Martina Hingis’ uncle. We thought perhaps you might like to meet her?”

“Meet...oh. Oh god really?” She stuttered, a flush of tingly excitement suffusing her cheeks. Her palms had suddenly become sweaty. She surreptitiously wiped them on her dress. Were her underarms as sweaty as her palms? She’d need to keep her arms down. Oh god.

She was ushered into the private lounge.

“Martina, this is the little fan I told you about, meet Elizabeth” Kamil said.

Her hero looked up from a small huddle she was in with what looked to be her mother and her coach. She turned towards her uncle and smiled pleasantly. Tear marks stained her cheeks.

“Hello, Elizabeth, it is nice to meet you,” Martina said in lightly accented English.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said quickly. “But you were wonderful, just on fire. It was such a good game, a tremendous defense. I have to say, you’ve inspired me more than I can say,” she babbled.

Martina smiled. “Thank you, it was certainly a good game.”

The meet and greet didn’t last long. She was so gracious though, signing an autograph and giving Lizzie a quick hug. She left with her mother shortly after that, with Lizzie’s adoring eyes on her as she went.

Lizzie looked up at Raymond, her heart full. He whistled, his eyes widening slightly.

“Lizzie, I know that look isn’t all for me,” he said laughingly, grasping her chin and tilting her face up for a kiss. “But sweetheart, I don't think you know how dangerous you are.”

“Dangerous?” she asked confusedly between breaths as his mouth chased hers.

“Mmmph,” was all he said, pressing her against him and kissing her thoroughly in the middle of the deserted lounge.

* * *

 

“So,” she said eagerly, planting her elbows on the table and leaning forward in the booth. “Tell me everything, tell me how you know Martina Hingis.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t. I know her uncle Kamil. Nice chap. I extricated his wife’s brother from a sticky situation a few years back.”

Her ears perked up. “What kind of sticky situation?”

He was about to respond when realization dawned on his face. “Never you mind,” he said crisply. “It’s not suitable for a fifteen year old girl's ears.”

“What! That’s not fair!” She cried.

He rang a tongue over his teeth, assessing her outraged glare. “There are some things that just-”

“You don't think I'm too young to have _sex_ ,” she said in a low, ferocious voice.

They both sat there looking at each other. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, his expression indicating the turbulence of the thoughts inside his head.

“You treat me like a child sometimes. Why?” She asked quietly. “Doesn't that feel weird to you? I would have thought you-”

“I know you're not a child,” he interrupted brusquely. “You take great pains to wave that in front of my face at any given opportunity.”

She drew in a shocked breath. What a terrible thing to say. His mouth was turning down at the corners as though he knew it too. Would he apologize?

One beat. Two. He grasped her hand across the table. “Lizzie, that’s not what I intended to say. That wasn’t kind or entirely true.” He pressed her hand to his lips. “Forgive me?”

Her forehead wrinkled. She had never been apologized to in that way. What he said had hurt. But he’d been so quick to take her hand and offer regret for his words. She was quickly mollified. He had spoken to her as an adult. She sighed softly. Of course she would forgive him.

She squeezed his hand. “You know it's just impulse control that’s affected right? With my brain I mean. We’ve been learning about it in biology. I'm not stupid just because I'm a teenager.”

“I beg your pardon?” He inquired politely, with a hint of interest, perhaps even of laughter in his voice.

“Can't you just accept that I know what I want? What is it that you're so worried about? You can't corrupt me you know. Anything you tell me, I've probably heard at school a dozen different ways.” She sat back in the booth, letting go of his hand and folding her arms, looking at him challengingly, her chin tilted.

The waiter chose that moment to approach them. He was a skinny, twenty-something with a shaved head and a gold ring in his right ear. “Hey,” he said casually, glancing at Raymond and then doing a double take. “Oh Mr. Re-”

“Francis, it's good to see you again,” interrupted Raymond loudly. “Be a pal, and retrieve your uncle from the kitchen for me. I haven't seen him in a while.”

“Sure thing ah, sir,” he said looking a little nervous, turning back to the kitchen.

“Oh, and Francis, tell your grandmother I'm here. We’ll have her special pizza,” he called out after the waiter.

Francis turned to grin at him. “Yes sir, I'll tell her.”

He turned his attention back to Lizzie. “Please excuse the interruption. His uncle won't be out for a while. Tell me more about this...impulse control and your brain,” he said, grinning at her.

She frowned. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Heavens no! I wouldn't dare,” he protested with a twinkle in his eye.

She glared at him suspiciously. “Okay, well it's just stuff we've been learning in class. It's not hormones that make teenagers so bad at impulse control and decision ma-, wait you _are_ making fun of me,” she accused in an outraged tone as she observed his deceptively bright eyed, innocent expression.

“No, oh no,” he said contritely, reaching for her hand again but she didn’t offer it to him, keeping her arms folded. “Please excuse me Lizzie,” he said, “it’s been so long since I’ve been in a science lab that I really ought to be listening. Perhaps I was making fun. Just a little. You have my full and undivided attention,” he said gravely.

She continued to glare, her lips tightly buttoned. He looked about to say something further when a large, middle aged man made his way to their table.

“You again, eh,” the man grunted, a broad grin on his face belying his unfriendly words. “Can’t keep you away Raymond! You come to flirt with my aged mother eh?”

Raymond laughed, a deep, soulful chuckle. She couldn't help but feel a jump in her belly at the sound, despite her annoyance with him. He stood from the booth to embrace his friend, thumping him enthusiastically on the back.

“Ah, Emilio, you old devil,” he said, smiling warmly. “May I introduce you to Elizabeth?” He turned and gestured to her sitting quietly at the table, her arms folded and her face still bearing hallmarks of her discontent.

“Lovely to meet you Elizabeth,” Emilio said, holding his hand out formally, sensing that formal would be best with her at that moment. Any attempt at jovial palling around probably would be rebuffed.

She extended her hand and dimpled at him, “hi, yeah, you too,” she said, smiling. She caught a flash of something on Raymond’s face as she turned her charm onto his friend. Not annoyance...not exactly, but he hadn’t liked getting the cold shoulder while his friend received her smiles.

“And what is the old goat doing with a pretty thing like you eh?” he asked curiously.

“He’s showing me New York,” she said promptly. “We’ve been to the tennis open. It’s been amazing,” she said.

“An associate’s daughter,” offered Raymond smoothly. “She’s from Alaska. He couldn't pick her up this weekend from boarding school so I obliged. We’ve been having fun, haven’t we, Lizzie?” He asked brightly, an undertone of warning to his voice.

She bit back her impulse to tear his story apart. She had to remember that she was still fifteen. It was so easy to forget. She didn't feel fifteen. She felt herself to be his equal and most of the time he treated her that way. She wondered uneasily how it might look to an outsider, her romance with an older man.

She was brought back to the present by Emilio’s belly laugh as Raymond shared with him some anecdote or another. Raymond was shaking his head, laughing. “No business tonight Emilio. Tonight is for pleasure,” he said, deliberately not looking at Lizzie, but his voice roughened at his last word, sending chills down her spine.

Emilio patted his friend on the shoulder. “My mother will want to see you, probably want to make a pet out of this one, eh,” he said, jerking his chin towards Lizzie.

Just as he was saying this, a cuddly old woman with greying hair held tightly in a bun on top of her head came bustling out of the swinging kitchen door with a decanter of amber liquid and three glasses in her arms. “Raymond!” She cried, setting down the glassware with a loud thump and seizing his face in her hands.”You take your time about it, but you’ve come back,” she said, joyfully smacking her lips against both of his cheeks.

“Ah, Daniela, I promised, didn't I,” he said playfully.

“Yes, yes, promises, promises. And who’s this,” she said, noticing Lizzie for the first time.

“Daniela, meet Elizabeth, a friend asked me to pick her up from boarding school and accompany her home. I’ve told her all about your marvelous pizza, my dear. I couldn't let her experience New York without a slice or two,” he grinned cheekily at the old woman who had eyes now for no one but Lizzie.

“Bella,” she cried, moving around to the other side of the booth to seize Lizzie’s face. She startled, unsure of herself but the old lady was so kindly, she let her, smiling stiffly as her cheek was patted and she was exclaimed over in fast Italian. “Raymond, you need to feed her up, eh? What do they feed you at these _boarding schools_ ,” she said with disgust in her voice. “My pizza will fill your belly, little one,” she said happily.

Emilio had been slyly pouring the whiskey while his mother was occupied with her quarry. He handed out a glass to each of the adults now.

“But what is this,” his mother protested. “Would the girl like an Americano? Campari?”

Raymond shook his head fast. “No Daniela,” he said apologetically.

Daniela looked at him beady eyed. “You Americans and your rules. I raised all my children on watered down wine from the moment they could eat at the dinner table, eh. And I have good strong boys,” she said, turning to thump her son on the chest.

Raymond looked at Lizzie, his lips compressed. His eyes flickered from his glass of whiskey and back to her. He extended his glass to her slowly. “A sip then,” he said.

She grinned, taking his glass and sniffing at it. She wrinkled her nose. God it was strong. But she hadn’t had more than a sneaky mouthful of her dad's beer before. Maybe she’d get used to the taste. She took a large mouthful, gulping it down.

A fierce burn engulfed her windpipe. She coughed, setting the glass down quickly. “Oh, that’s strong,” she gasped. The whole table laughed at her uproariously. She reluctantly smiled back. Well it had been funny, she supposed.

The mother and son stayed until their pizza arrived. They left them with promises of tiramisu to ‘feed the girl up’.

Lizzie looked at Raymond, dazed. “Are all your friends like that?” She asked.

He huffed a laugh. “I have an eclectic group of friends, you could say,” he acknowledged. He glanced at her speculatively. “Very well done Lizzie.”

“What is?”

“You charmed the pants off them both. I’m going to be interrogated by Daniela the next time I come around here. She’ll want to know how her little Bella is,” he said, gently mocking.

She felt a pleasant warmth and she wasn’t sure if it was his praise or the whiskey, but she liked it. She picked up a slice of pizza and smiled at him.

* * *

 

It wasn't as late as the previous night as they walked through Central Park after dinner and dessert. He had taken her hand again, swinging it jauntily, humming to himself.

“What's that you're humming?” She couldn't help asking.

“Ha, you wouldn't know it. Moonlight Serenade, Glenn Miller?”

He was right. She didn't know it. She was unaccountably disappointed. Why was she so enormously downcast that she didn't share the same taste in music as he did? She felt so young and gauche quite suddenly. Her awkwardness must have been obvious because he stopped in the path and turned to her.

“You're like a blank canvas,” he said, taking her other hand and guiding her to a nearby park bench. He sat on the bench, his legs slightly apart and held her hands in his, gently stroking her scar.

“I am not,” she said indignantly, hiding her scarred wrist behind her back. She had her own thoughts and tastes and passions. How dare he dismiss them?

“Alright, not blank,” he acknowledged, pulling her to stand between his legs. “But you're clean and beautiful and absolutely perfect Lizzie.” It seemed as though he were reasoning this to himself now. His forehead was wrinkled into a frown and there was a small, sad smile on his face. “Don't be too hard on me for wanting to keep you that way.” He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as though weighed down by his thoughts.

She licked her lips nervously, her heart fluttering but not quite believing him. “I’m not perfect or beautiful. You’re being silly.” She wasn't sure why but his compliments upset her. She hated her hair and her skin and her breasts. She kept her hand behind her back, hating her scar most of all in that moment.

He looked at her standing there with one hand behind her back, his hooded eyes seeing right through her painful objections. “Your scar,” he said. “You’re ashamed of it.”

Her lower lip trembled. “It’s not exactly a blank canvas is it?”

“But it’s part of you, Lizzie. Part of your history, part of what’s shaped you. Were you not listening when I told you that I find you fascinating?” He reached for her hidden arm, pulling her wrist to his lips and kissing her scar. “Every bit of you, darling.”

“You haven’t asked me,” she said quietly, “about how I got it.”

He gave her an understanding smile. “You’ve never offered to tell me. But I can tell it’s a burn scar. I have my own.”

“You do?” She asked, her eyes widening slightly. She’d been too young to remember much about the clinic after she healed from her burn. She had vague memories of a hospital and a pressure glove around her wrist for the longest time but she didn't remember any of the other children in the burns unit. She’d never really met anyone else with significant scars. It was just one more thing that set her apart.

“I do,” he nodded.

“Can I see?” She asked shyly.

He hesitated. “I’m not sure it’s something I should be showing a young girl,” he said regretfully.

Her eyebrows shot up. “I'm not an innocent, I'm not a kid. And how did you think you were going to hide it when we...get back to the hotel”

He chuckled. “You certainly are an innocent, although you may not like to hear it.” Sighing again he said, “if I'm honest, I've been thinking to myself half a dozen times this weekend that I should bundle you back onto the plane and send you home.”

He looked at her alarmed expression with wry amusement. “Don't fret, I'm so used to getting my way and so little used to having something so...sweet all for my own that it's not likely to happen.”

She stroked his cheek, leaning into him. He wasn't going to send her home. He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

“Lizzie, I wish you'd tell me no,” he said suddenly

She smiled. She felt she was becoming wise to his game now. She leaned forward. “But I'm telling you yes,” she whispered into his ear.

“I thought so,” he said huskily, gripping her hips and pulling her into him. “Let's get you back to the suite then, shall we?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So don't let me fall, don't let me fall  
> Let the nighttime come this way  
> Don't let me fall, don't let me fall your way  
> And carry on  
> Just cross the waters, I'll be okay  
> 'Cause I've been loved, I've been loved enough today  
> I know your fears are hidden well beneath your wind  
> So don't be long, leave me here, let me belong  
> Let me belong
> 
> ~ "Carry On, Coeur De Pirate"

* * *

 

He peeled off his jacket and took her in his arms as soon as the door closed behind them, circling her waist with one arm and tipping her chin up for a kiss.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” He asked huskily, his lips tracing light kisses across her mouth, her eyelids, her jaw.

“Yes,” was all she could manage in response, a little breathy squeak as he gently turned her body to face the wall.

"Stand up against the wall, spread your legs,” he said. “That's it. Hands on the wall."

His voice travelled through her like a nip of the smooth whiskey he’d allowed her to try that night, making her limbs feel warm and heavy. Heat swelled and pooled in her belly as she splayed her hands against the wall, legs spread wide.

She waited, listening to his labored breathing. He was perfectly still behind her, his hands lightly resting on her hips, but she couldn't see him, and he just stood there.

“If I were a better man, Lizzie...” he rumbled, his voice sounding pained to her ears.

She stiffened. The awkward situation solidified around her, and she was just about to adjust the skirt of her dress and angrily march from the room. If he didn't want her, why had he put her in this position? But then, he placed a hand on her bottom, resting over the fabric of her dress. She stilled, closing her eyes. His hand, so large and firm. What was he going to do next?

He knelt behind her, running his hands up and down her legs, hiking the skirt of her dress up around her waist.

"Your legs, sweetheart..."

"What about them?" She asked defensively. What was wrong with her legs?

"Delicious," he said, leaning in and running his tongue from the crook of her knee to the crease of her bottom.

Oh.

A sharp intake of breath and a slight wobble was all he had to indicate how he was affecting her.

She was shocked, her pupils blown wide. Was this what it felt like to make love? Were they finally going to do this? She had been waiting all weekend for this moment.

“Raymond, please,” she pleaded breathlessly. She wasn't even sure what she was begging for but she was so nervous. She wanted him, wanted this, but she was self conscious. He was going to see her _naked_.

“Please what? You want me to do that again?” He teased, his tongue swiping at her once more.

“I-I need-” she stumbled, unsure of what she needed, let alone how to articulate it to him.

"I'm getting there, sweetheart. I promise."

He rubbed his face into the curve of her ass, still holding her firmly with both hands. Dropping kisses lightly up and down her legs, his lips explored her inner thighs, working his way in. He nuzzled her with his nose, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her.

"Legs wider," he commanded, placing his mouth on her damp panties as she shuffled her legs further apart. He gripped her hips, angling her bottom towards him and licked her through her panties, sucking her into his mouth, tasting her arousal, inhaling her scent.

She cried out, grinding herself into his face.

“Lizzie,” he warned, “I’m going to make this...very good for you but you need to stay as still as you can, do you hear me?

“Yes,” she quavered.

He pushed the crotch of her panties to the side, clamping his hot mouth on her, swirling his tongue directly against her clit, licking her in short, rhythmic strokes. Her hips jerked in response and she whimpered with the tension of keeping still, her whole body desperate to grind against him.

She had never. In all her life. She could barely think. Who knew it would be like this?  She couldn't hold back, she tried to stay still, but she felt moans of pleasure bubbling up in her throat and her body wasn't cooperating. It was embarrassing her, how little control she had over her responses to him. Her legs were quivering. She felt his hands tightening around her hips. He wouldn't let her fall.

He nudged his face further between her thighs, caressing her with his tongue, humming at her little moans and starts as she responded to him. He pulled back from her and slipped a finger inside of her, slow and cautious. She jerked in surprise as a twinge ran through her. “Oh,” she gasped.  She felt his finger fill her, sinking slowly into her, he moved deeper inside, stretching her, thrusting gently, in time to her own shuddering jerks. Her legs were shaking as she desperately pushed herself against the wall to stay upright.

“I can't, I can’t,” she panted frantically. And his _thumb_ , he was brushing it over her clit as he thrust and she just _couldn't_.

And then she was still, pulsing around his hand, a wail erupting from her lips. She wobbled one final time, her legs buckling like a newborn deer. He pulled her down on top of him, before she fell.

She lay sprawled limply across him. He kissed her lips, her eyelids, threading a hand through her hair, running a thumb over an eyebrow.

“How was that, sweetheart?” He asked, sleekly satisfied with the result of his attentions.

She clutched at him weakly. “G-good, so good,” she answered shakily.

He nuzzled at her ear. “Do you want me inside you?” He whispered.

She couldn't speak, she just nodded, too shy to look him in the eyes. But he wouldn't let her look away, he took her chin in his hand, sitting up with her on the carpet.

“Lizzie, you don't have to, if you’re not ready…”

“No, I want to,” she said, her eyes watering with the effort of looking back at him. His beautiful green eyes gazed intently at her. He smiled, leaning in to kiss the corners of her mouth, light, feathery kisses that warmed her skin.

He took her hand, “come with me then, beautiful girl.”

He led her into the opulent master bedroom. It was tastefully filled with white baroque furniture. A gleaming, heavy loveseat sat in the corner. The bed was massive. It too was made in the baroque style, the headboard large and ornate, with intricately carved curlicues cresting from the middle and highest point.

She swallowed. The furniture, the upholstery, the bed. It was all so clean and white. Would she bleed? People told so many different stories, it was hard to tell what was true and what was not so likely.

She looked at him uncertainly. He was watching her, still holding her hand, stroking her wrist soothingly.

She moved to hop onto the bed, unsure of what else to do. He stopped her. “Wait, Lizzie. Are you _sure_.”

She turned back to him, trembling. She had to ask. “Maybe we’ll need a towel? I don't know if I'll bleed.”

She didn't know if he wanted to laugh. But if he did, he disguised it well. He smiled reassuringly at her and showed her his index finger. There was a speck of blood. “See? That’s all.”

“Oh,” she looked wonderingly at his hand. “Well that wasn't what I expected.”

He chuckled. “Yes I suppose you’ve heard a number of terrifying and utterly false things.” He took her gently in his arms as though he were about to dance with her, one arm around her waist, the other raised in the air with her hand held in his. “Do you have any questions?”

His body was up against hers and she could feel him, his hardness poking into her abdomen. Her whole body flushed with heat. Her stomach dropped. Could she do this? Would it hurt?

“Will it hurt,” she blurted out as he danced her over to the bed.

“Mmm, you might feel a pinch,” he acknowledged. “If you let me take my time with you, it won’t be more than a pinch, I promise you.”

She looked down, between them at his crotch, doubtfully. He laughed a little then. “Yes, you can feel how much I want you, can’t you?” He led her until her legs were pushing gently against the side of the bed. She let him nudge her to a sitting position.

She closed her eyes as he caressed her face, slowly moving his thumb over her lips, down her neck, tracing the outline of her collarbone, his hands reaching behind her to the zipper of her dress. She felt the dress fall away as he unzipped her, leaving her in her bra and panties.

Without thinking, she pulled her arms around herself. It wasn't cold, the room was perfectly temperature regulated. But here they were, with the lights on and she was nude and he was about to see more of her than any boy had seen.

_Man_ , she corrected herself mentally.

He stopped his caresses. She opened her eyes. He was kneeling in front of her now, looking into her face intently. “Lizzie, are you alright? If there’s any doubt, we can stop. We can stop right now, sweetheart. I’ll draw you a bath and you can go to sleep.”

“No!” She said stridently. “No,” again in a more moderate voice. “I just...This is farther than I’ve ever gone. But I want to,” she continued breathily, looking earnestly back into his face.

He looked at her meditatively for a moment, and then smiled slowly. “Tell me how far you _have_ gone,” he growled, rising up to crawl onto the bed, over her. She lay back, letting him cover her, eyes wide in anticipation. She wiggled further onto the bed.

“What...what do you mean?”

“First base? Second? Have you ever let a boy...French kiss you?” He said slyly, capturing her lips with his, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

And he was kissing her the way he’d taught her to kiss, his tongue dancing with hers, massaging hers, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip. She responded, her mind foggy with desire. What was his question again? She licked at his lips, her delicate tongue teasing him, playing with him. He was running his hands roughly over her body. She cried out into his mouth when he cupped a breast through her bra, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ah, please,” she gasped.

He reached to unclasp her bra, her pert little breasts springing free into his hands. He groaned painfully, pulling away from her, unbuckling his belt, kicking his pants and boxers off desperately as she scrambled to help him with the buttons of his shirt.

“Lizzie, slow down,” he said, breathing hard, gripping her wrists as she reached for him. He pulled her in for another bruising kiss, thoroughly distracting her as he pulled her panties down her legs.

And there she was. She froze, she lay back on the bed, her arms by her side, watching him.

He sat back, just looking at her. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, reaching a finger to touch her lips reverently.

She smiled awkwardly, gently catching his finger between her teeth for a moment. “I’m not,” she responded dismissively.

He growled, pulling himself over her, “You are the most beautiful thing,” he said, fastening his mouth to hers once again, rousing her body with another kiss and coming up for air. “I never want to hear you say otherwise.”

He lowered his head, taking a nipple into his mouth. She shuddered under him, rubbing herself against him. She didn't know, she didn't know yet, but he was going to show her.

His mouth moved to her collarbone, sucking gently on her skin. “Are you ready, beautiful girl?” He panted.

She nodded tightly, tensing. Her hands were at his shoulders, tracing the scars he’d told her about. She couldn't see them but she could feel the ridges, the damaged flesh. It distracted her for a moment. And then her hands travelled over the expanse of his back. His _entire_ back was scarred. She felt the air leave her lungs. What kind of fire could have caused _that_? She ran her hands over him again, marveling that he had come through the other side of what must have been a terrible ordeal.

He guided himself with one hand to her entrance, waiting there for a moment. She didn't know what he was waiting for. He kissed her again, feather light.

“Lizzie? Yes?”

“Yes,” she croaked hoarsely, her vocal chords closed up, and despite all the time in the world he spent adoring her body, she couldn't relax when it came to it. Her thighs trembled with the effort of remaining open for him. Her stomach muscles were a hard ball of concrete but she'd said yes hadn’t she? She buried her head into his shoulder as he lowered himself inside of her.

And oh, it was a strange ache, not exactly a pinch like he'd said and far from the worst pain she’d ever endured but it was so foreign, it made her want to cry.

He moved slowly, so slowly inside of her, his own body trembling slightly with his determination to hold back, to be gentle.

She was desperate not to cry, she had said yes, right until the last moment she had said yes and she wanted him still, she did, she just wasn’t prepared for this feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She shivered and sighed. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't. She’d never see him again if she did that now, after she’d let him in so far.

It was as if he had read her thoughts. He stopped, still inside her. “Lizzie, is this still okay?” He asked.

“Yes,” she lied.

He moved again, tortuously slow. He was _inside_ of her, she thought with some surprise. She had a man inside of her. She realised that after all the sex-ed talks, after all the giggled conversations in the cafeteria, all the guilty glances at porn when adults weren’t looking, she hadn't really understood.

He wasn't moving any differently but she started to relax, the shock of the fullness inside her wearing off a little. He turned his head to her, kissing her cheek. “Beautiful,” he mumbled, his eyes glazed.

She clung to him like a monkey, her hands clutching at his scarred back, unsure of what to do with her arms and legs. He was moving a little faster now and it was hurting again. She whimpered.

He stopped immediately, peppering her face and throat with kisses. “Lizzie,” he said thickly, “If you want to stop, you need to tell me now, I can't...keep…” he struggled.

She shook her head mutely. He took that as a green light.

He started to move in earnest, his strokes smooth and even. She gasped, sensation exploding inside of her, overwhelming and surrounding her. She began to feel threads of satisfying pleasure winding its way around the edges of her discomfort.

He raised himself on his elbows, capturing her lips again in a smouldering kiss, the pleasure of his touch flooding through her. She couldn't feel pain or discomfort anymore, not with this electrifying heat coursing through her nerve endings. He was gasping, panting into her ear, speaking her name again and again. “Lizzie, _god_ , Lizzie,” His breath was so hot on her cheek, on her ear and his thrusts were becoming harder, faster paced, wilder.

She struggled to breathe, frightened as his face twisted as though he were in pain. He arched his back, shuddering, clutching at her as she felt his release, hot and wet inside of her. He collapsed onto her body, kissing her lips with no artistry, open mouthed, enthusiastic and demanding.

Overcome, she tried to return his passion, kissing him back, her lips felt numb though and despite her fiercest instructions to herself she felt tears well up in her eyes.

A sob escaped her.

He froze, horrified. “Lizzie, baby girl. Oh, I’m so sorry. I promised you I wouldn’t hurt you.” His eyes were wide and alarmed. He withdrew himself from her, pulling her into his embrace.

“No, it's okay,” she said through her tears. “I don't know why I’m crying, I’m sorry. You haven't hurt me"

“Please don't be sorry,” he said, his voice distressed. He stroked her hair softly. “Darling, I wanted this to be so special for you." He placed a hand on her tummy, his fingers splayed across her possessively.

She felt so small, so childish. Had she ruined it? Would it always be like this? She didn't think she could do it again if it was. She shivered. She didn't feel...good.

He was kissing her again, gently now, smoothing away the signs of her tears with his lips. His hand at her tummy slowly moving across her skin, stroking, caressing. She wished she knew how to feel. There was a dull ache at the cleft between her legs and his hand was sliding down there now. Could she tell him she needed him to just hold her and nothing more?

"Ray-Raymond," she whispered.

His hand stopped, cupped between her legs. "Yes, baby?"

"I need," she swallowed another sob, "I think I need a hug,"

He didn't hesitate. He seized her, squeezing her tight, his muscular arms surrounding her, his body cocooning hers. "Better?" He asked.

She nodded, clutching him and burying her face in his chest.

* * *

 

It was dark and in the early hours of the morning when she slipped out of his embrace, padding from the bedroom and into the luxurious living room of the suite. She'd lain there for the longest time, too keyed up to close her eyes. He had drifted off within minutes of cuddling her, his arms still securely around her until they slackened with sleep.

She furtively explored the room. This was his favourite hotel. Why? She didn't even know where he lived. There was so much she hadn't thought to ask. Was he local? He'd said he was a businessman, that was all she knew. She stood in front of the old record player that was sitting on a mahogany side table, thumbing through the records, and it rushed in upon her, like veils being drawn away, cobwebs lifting. She was in a strange hotel, with a man she barely knew in an entirely different state and she hadn't told anyone. She hadn't told her best friends where she was.

There wasn't anything changed about the room to indicate his presence  but she looked up suddenly and found him in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded, staring at her. He had a bathrobe on. She hadn't thought to put one on, creeping out of the room naked. She was swanning around his hotel room with no clothes on and he was just looking at her.

"What's your last name?" She blurted, panic fisting around her heart. Why? Why did she say that? Couldn't she have thought of a better time? Like weeks ago maybe.

The shadows hid his face. She couldn't tell how he felt about her question. He didn't answer her, just moved across the room to where she stood. She saw him then. There were lines around his eyes. He looked tense, unhappy. He reached for a record, unsheathing it and placing it carefully on the record player.

The strains of Beethoven filled the room. It didn't relax her.

He took her in an embrace, lightly, but firmly moved her arms, and placed her hand on his shoulder, circling her waist with his other arm. "Dance with me," he asked in a gravelly voice.

"I don't know how to dance," she admitted softly.

"You're so light, so little. Just pop your feet on mine. I'll show you."

She tentatively did as he asked, letting him lead her around the room, riding on his feet. She _was_ light, she thought. She _was_ little. He could practically span his hands around her teenage waist.

She felt his bicep rippling under her hand. He was so powerful, his body carrying her as though she weighed nothing. It was nice, to be nestled in his arms. She let the music and his strength romance her, her thoughts drifting.

And she forgot that he hadn't answered her question.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cut your teeth on the lack of answers, and you  
> Come back home and it don't feel the same  
> Well I bled words onto a page for you  
> And you never knew my name  
> ~ "Cut Your Teeth, Kyla La Grange"

* * *

 

Lizzie woke suddenly, her eyes popping open to stare up at the ceiling lights overhead. She had been jerked out of sleep to a strange sensation. The feeling of his gentle hands caressing...down there. He was examining her, she looked down at him, his face was close up between her legs, his fingers spreading her folds.

"What are you doing?" She asked confusedly.

"Just checking to see if you're alright," he said, stroking a finger against her, eliciting a small whimper from her lips. “You know...I’ve done so many things, Lizzie, some of them might make your hair curl if I chose to tell you,” he smiled at her, resting his chin lightly on her hip bone. “But I’ve never slept with a virgin before now. I confess to some curiosity at how you might be feeling this morning. You seem fine. How _do_ you feel?"

"A little bit sore," she said breathily, wishing he wouldn't stop touching her.

"Do you think you could stand to have me inside you again this morning," he asked, his voice deep and seductive, still roughened with sleep.

When he used that voice with her, she thought, she knew she would need to be far more sore than this to say no to him.

She smiled tremulously. "I think I could."

He dropped a kiss on her leg, playfully biting the fleshy part of her upper thigh."You're so sweet, so perfect," he said softly, in wonderment. He crawled over her, dragging himself deliberately over her body, skin to skin. She took in a shaky breath. It was so alien, this business of making love. How could something be so arousing and so frightening at the same time?

She didn’t get the chance to ponder further as he lowered his mouth to hers. He was so gentle, his tongue lazily playing with hers, his hand at her breast, thumb rubbing across her nipple. Her thoughts blurred as he broke off his kiss and his mouth sought out her other nipple, suckling on her. She cried out, arching into him and in one smooth movement he entered her while she was pressing herself up into him.

She gasped in shock. He hadn't warned her. But he was inside of her again. It felt a little better this time. She was sore but it was a completely different kind of sore to how it had felt the night before. He sought her lips once more, one hand cupping her cheek and he kissed her, moaning deeply into her mouth.

He was slow, moving languorously inside her, not as excited and frantic as he’d been the night before, his eyes still half asleep, a smile of satisfaction on his face as he explored and caressed.

“Is this good?” He whispered.

She nodded, reaching for him, running her mouth along his shoulder, her fingers tracing his roughened skin. It felt nice, being so close to him. This nearness, this intimacy, it was more than words could express. She felt a surge of some nameless emotion in her chest. It was so wonderful and intense, it was almost distressing, what she felt for him.

Her thighs were so sticky afterwards. He’d laughingly explained what the wet spot on the bed was all about. _Gross_ , she thought. She awkwardly retreated to the bathroom to clean herself up and returned to him sitting in the middle of the bed holding a bottle of baby oil.

“Hop back on the bed, I want to give you a massage,” he said.

And she did, sliding next to him onto her belly, her arms outstretched above her head. She shivered in anticipation as the bottle squirted oil out noisily onto his palm. She giggled at the sound. He snorted in response. “Mature,” he teased in his mocking way.

His hands were on her suddenly, sliding with the help of the oil along her back, his thumbs pressing lightly into her spine. He moved himself over her so that he was almost seated on her bottom.

“Do you like this, Lizzie?” He asked.

“Mmm,” she responded, luxuriating in his attention. She had never had a massage before. This was lovely. His strong fingers pressing into her skin, his palms sliding along her body.

“Was it everything you thought it would be?” He asked curiously, his hands stilled on her, waiting for her answer.

She thought for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t know if I did think about what it would be like. I mean, not really.”

“Hmmm,” he mused, his hands moving again. “Your skin is so soft,” he marvelled, pressing his thumbs into the flesh of her bottom. “You’re so lovely,” he said huskily, almost to himself.

She wiggled in pleasure, feeling him suddenly against her. He had grown hard again, sitting on her as he had been, sliding over her with his hands. “Again?” He asked eagerly, moving himself over her prone body so that she could feel him poking further between her legs. She murmured her assent, parting her legs for the third time, for her third time.

* * *

 

The air was so still in the room, neither hot or cold, perfectly regulated so that she could lie naked with just a light sheet over herself and feel perfectly contented.

She shifted in bed as she heard a discreet knock at the door. They'd been lying there drowsily in the late morning, the both of them still half asleep, his leg wrapped around hers, an arm flung across her chest.

He kissed her cheek, nuzzling her affectionately with his nose. "Room service," he whispered. "I'll get up, you stay here for a moment." He rose swiftly, shrugging on a bathrobe and leaving the bedroom.

She listened to the muted voices conversing at the front door as he received their breakfast. A thought occurred to her. What had he told the staff here, if anything? Perhaps he’d told the same story as last night at his friend’s pizza place?. The suite was multi roomed. It would have been easy to mention acting as temporary guardian to his friend’s daughter offhandedly. She was troubled. How could she ask him? She couldn't really without bringing back that pained, unhappy look to his face that she’d seen last night.

She wished she were older so they didn't have to lie. Wished it with all her heart.

She got up, wrapping her bathrobe around herself and left the bedroom.

She paused at the bedroom door as the staff member with their room service was pocketing his tip. He looked at her for a second, his eyes widening, then he looked away hurriedly as though he had seen a ghost.

The friendly, relaxed atmosphere in the room changed. Raymond's face had become hard and mocking, the friendly geniality that had been present only a moment ago, completely evaporated.

“Th-thank you,” the uniformed man stuttered, flicking her another curious, guilty look. She frowned, feeling so uncomfortable all of a sudden. It was the kind of look you give a puppy at the pound when you want to take it home but can’t.

He turned to leave quickly, closing the door gently behind him. She looked at Raymond from across the room. He avoided meeting her eyes, gesturing to the round, mahogany breakfast table in the corner of the living room. Breakfast had been laid out for them, silver covers over each plate and the trolley was standing beside the table with numerous jugs and small jars of condiments resting on top of it.

“Are you okay?” She asked cautiously, feeling the mood was still quite strange.

He flashed her a warm smile. “Of course. Come and have some breakfast.”

He pulled the high backed chair out for her and she sat, watching him sit across from her at the table, pulling his napkin tidily across his lap.

"Coffee?" He asked, already beginning to pour her a cup.

"No, I'm not allowed," she said unthinkingly. "Dad says it's bad for a growing bod-" she cut herself off abruptly, looking at him with some trepidation. They stared at each other from across the table. He was holding the coffee pot frozen over her mug, just looking at her, lips pursed slightly, an assessing look on his face. “Can we...pretend I just never said that?” She said self consciously. “I’ll have coffee, just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

He smiled tightly, pulling the coffee mug towards himself. “There’s tea and orange juice. What would you like?” He was unfailingly polite, a gentleman, she thought.

“Juice please,” she said in a small voice.

She watched him take a tumbler from the silver breakfast trolley and calmly pour her a glass of juice. He handed it to her, a faint smile on his lips. He was hard to read at times. She could almost think he was annoyed but he could just as easily be amused.

“Would you think it terribly rude if I read the newspaper at the breakfast table?” He inquired lightly, taking the silvers covers off of their plates. “You see, it’s my usual habit.”

She swallowed. “No,” she managed to say, if a little hoarsely, her eyes trained on the toast and eggs on her plate. She hated herself just then. She’d embarrassed herself and now he’d rather not talk to her.

He half reached for the newspaper lying on the table at his elbow, then stopped. Her eyes flashed up to his face to find him regarding her evenly.

“Perhaps not today,” he said softly. “Not when I have such charming company.” He brought his coffee cup to his lips, his eyes still gazing at her over the rim of the cup.

Her mind darted wildly about for something interesting to say. She picked up her fork, stirring her eggs around her plate and cleared her throat. “So when are we leaving?” She ventured.

Dammit.

She’d made it sound like she wanted to leave. She didn’t. She wanted him to hold her again and whisper poetry in her ear and tell her how lovely he thought she was.

His eyebrows rose slightly. “We can leave anytime you like but I expect your father will want you back at home for dinner, yes?”

She nodded, fiddling nervously with her napkin. “I guess so.”

“Well then,” he said brightly, “perhaps we have just enough time for the Statue of Liberty. Would you like that?”

Would she ever.

Breakfast was easier after that. She felt as though her misstep with the coffee had been forgotten and everything was back to normal between them. He was even gaily sharing the crossword puzzle with her.

“Twenty two across,” he said, leaning forward, a slight frown of concentration on his face. “Four letter word, a worker hardly making a minimum wage.”

“Hmm, teen?” She laughed, proud of herself at his answering smile. She always felt a sense of achievement when she was able to entertain him.

“Not quite, it doesn't fit, but very good. I'd say law abiding American too but that really doesn't fit at all.” His grin faltered at her confused look. “Never mind, just a comment on the state of affairs in this country.”

Her face cleared. “I wondered. Okay, how about peon?”

He glanced back at the paper. “Correct!” He exclaimed, tapping the paper with his pen and writing it down. “Well done Lizzie, I'll make a crossword enthusiast of you yet.”

She felt that familiar glow deep in her chest and butterflies in her stomach.

He leaned back in his chair, observing her scoop up the last of her scrambled eggs, popping them in her mouth and licking her fork delicately. “Why don't you go and have a shower while I make some phone calls,” he said, placing the newspaper onto the table. “Then we can be on our way.”

“Alright,” she said, standing up and stretching. She could still feel the throb between her legs, reminding her of their new intimacy. She smiled at him and moved toward the bathroom, wondering if he was watching her. She threw a look back at him but he had already crossed the floor to pick up the brass handled telephone on the stand by the door.

She showered quickly, thoughts crowding in, feelings crowding the thoughts. _What now?_ She thought as an anxious knot took hold in her stomach. Would he share more of himself with her? Why did she feel so intrusive just asking him simple questions like his last name or where he lived. She’d had _sex_ with him, surely that entitled her to something?

She brushed her teeth and dried her hair, looking closely at herself in the mirror. Was she supposed to look different now? Was there some non-virginal glow that would give it all away?

She laughed to herself. Non-virginal glow. She’d been watching too many rom-coms with Alison.

She dressed in a t-shirt and jeans and left the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. She was about to turn the corner into the living room when she heard him on the phone.

“No, Joe, I’d prefer it if we can do this quietly. No fuss, no one need know I was involved at all.”

There was silence for a moment. She held her breath, wondering why she was even doing this. Eavesdroppers never heard anything good, her father always said.

“Quite right,” he said crisply to the person on the other end of the phone. “Get it done by Wednesday. And remember me to Maureen, will you?”

She straightened. She’d been leaning against the wall. She was ashamed of herself now but also curious. She had never heard his business voice. It was almost...frightening.

She turned the corner bouncing into the living room. “Hey,” she said, forcing a brightness to her voice that she didn’t quite feel. “I’d say I used a lot of the hot water but I get the feeling it doesn't really run out here.”

He snorted, putting the phone down. “I’ll have a shower then, and we can be off.” He chucked her under the chin as he sauntered past her.

She was alone in the main room of the suite. She glanced around her. There weren't any video tapes lying around and she didn’t feel like watching Sunday morning television. She cast about for something to do, anything really because a thought was lurking and she was trying to ignore it. She had played sneaky with him once before and he’d forgiven her stealing his wallet. Would he be so forgiving if he discovered her rooting around in his private affairs?

Maybe not but she couldn't help it. She slipped quietly into the main bedroom, listening out for the sound of the shower. She could hear him singing to himself in his deep, crooning voice. She swallowed a laugh. He was adorable. She felt a twinge of guilt but really, she just wanted to know more about him. Was that so wrong?

She flipped open the wallet lying on the nightstand, searching for a licence. Nothing. No ID, no cards, just cash. Well, that was weird.

Okay, what about his account downstairs? There was his access key on the nightstand. She put out her hand, hovering over it, indecision crippling her.

Yes, she was going to do it.

Her fingers closed around the access key and she crept from the room and out of the suite, padding her way to the elevator and down to the lobby. She wished she wasn't so under dressed for this but she’d just have to wing it.

“Hi,” she said cheerfully to the man on desk duty. The same concierge that had greeted Raymond on their arrival. “Listen, can I get the minibar tab and the room bill? Raymond’s upstairs and we're running a bit late.” She faltered under the confused stare of the concierge.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, Mr. Houston has his accounts sent to his assistant...and...there is no minibar tab. It’s all inclusive,” he said smugly.

“Oh, right,” she said, undaunted. She had gotten what she came for. A name! Raymond Houston. It’s a pity she hadn't been able to get a hold of the bill. There might have been a home address. All in all it felt good.

She practically skipped upstairs in time to hear the shower stop running. Success.

Raymond Houston. Nice. Elizabeth Houston. Nicer. Her thoughts were traitorous, romanticizing everything when it came to him. She would have to play it cool, she thought uncomfortably. She didn't want him to start finding her to be a drag.

A short time later she followed him downstairs. He'd told her a car would be waiting to take them to the ferry. He led the way through the lobby with purpose, it was apparent that he wouldn't be stopping to check anything at the front desk which she was thankful for.

And then she saw the concierge approaching.

“Sir, may I speak with you a moment?” He asked deferentially.

Her stomach clenched. _What a snitch_ , she thought crossly. The concierge was indicating now that he wanted to speak to Raymond privately. She felt her hands and feet grow cold. This was going to get unpleasant.

Raymond turned to her, rolling his head slightly to a seat over near the door. “Wait there, I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb's tail,” he said cheerily. Well he was only cheery because he didn't know yet.

She snuck covert glances at the concierge and Raymond talking quietly in the corner near the desk with a sinking heart. They weren't particularly animated in their conversation and neither man looked over to her but surely he could only be telling him one thing.

She watched in breathless dismay as he turned to cross the pink marble floor of the lobby. His face held no clues to what he was thinking.

“Shall we go?” He said. “Let's not be late for the next ferry. I'm acquainted with one of the ferrymen actually. He might let you come up front into the cabin if you're good.” He smiled at her as though nothing was wrong and took her firmly but gently by the upper arm, leading her out of the hotel into the waiting car.

She wondered the whole time, on tenterhooks, if perhaps she'd been wrong. She could barely focus on seeing the Statue of Liberty, although it was quite an experience. She felt sick with nerves walking the winding stairs up to the crown and she barely noticed the view from the top, so wrapped up was she in the thought that he might know. Why didn't he say something if he did?

But he spoke courteously to her of the Statue’s history as though he were having a perfectly lovely weekend.

“La Liberté éclairant le monde,” he said in practiced French. “Look at her, Lizzie. She embodies all that this fair country claims to be and falls extraordinarily short of.” He smiled sourly. “Liberty for the people. And every man a slave if they only knew.”

She shivered at his dark thoughts.

The return to the plane was quiet. He pointed out a few landmarks as they drove past, but he didn't suggest that they'd be back to see them again like he had at the start of the trip.

He took her bag from her as she exited the car. “Allow me,” he said courteously. She hated it when he was extra polite. Maybe he did know?

No. He would have taken her straight home in disgrace if he knew she’d been sneaking around again.

She climbed the ramp to the plane, entering the spacious cabin space which was now familiar to her, flopping into a seat. She watched him speak quietly to his steward who closed the safety doors and he turned around to her, the expression on his face causing her heart to give an uncomfortable lurch in her chest.

“So,” he said, placing her bag on a seat.  “Would you like to tell me why you were attempting to gain access to my account at the hotel? Thought you'd pay the bill for me, did you?”

****  



	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't care what consequence it brings  
> I have been a fool for lesser things  
> I want you so bad  
> I think you ought to know that  
> I intend to hold you for  
> The longest time   
> ~ "The Longest Time, Billy Joel"

* * *

 

Relief flooded her. At least there was a confrontation. Much better than tip toeing around wondering if he knew. But her mind was still blank. Unhelpfully blank. She hadn’t even thought up her excuses while she’d been out with him. She’d been too worried about whether or not he knew in the first place.

He was folding his arms now. _God, say something_ , she thought desperately.

He stood there with arms folded, his face impassive and unimpressed. “Well?” He asked. “Would you care to explain yourself Elizabeth?”

She sat there, frozen like a cornered rabbit. He'd _waited_ , deliberately _waited_ until she was locked in with him on the plane before confronting her. “Um,” she croaked out, cursing her brain as it appeared that it had completely deserted her. The plane started to taxi along the runway.

“You should put your seat-belt on,” she said desperately and rather foolishly.

“Elizabeth,” he said firmly, and oh, he was still using her _full_ name. It nearly made her wriggle in mortification. “I can conceive of nothing more disheartening than to spend a lovely weekend with a young lady I...deeply care for and discover that she is behaving in an underhanded manner.”

She looked nervously at him. She wasn’t...underhanded. She’d just wanted to know him properly.

He stepped toward her, his expression darkening but his voice deceptively light. “And so I’m very much afraid I’m going to have to insist on an explanation. I’ll ask you again to tell me why you were trying to access my account.” He waited, looking for all the world like he would wait forever until he had his answer. But then, “Lizzie,” his voice, loud and harsh, heard even above the whine of the engine as they made their ascent into the sky.

She jumped at his tone. “You won't tell me anything about yourself,” she burst out, suddenly furious. “All I wanted to know is your _last name_. I shouldn't have had to go sneaking around to find out my boyfriend’s last name. Or where he lives,” she threw at him.

He looked momentarily shocked. His head tilted curiously. “Your _boyfriend_ ,” he repeated with a trace of surprise in his voice.

And suddenly it dawned on her that he might not see their relationship the same way she saw it. She was horrified, an awful, twisty feeling of embarrassment rose up and coiled itself around her stomach. She felt tears welling up and she was desperate to hide them from him. How humiliating. How pathetic was she? She choked back her sobs, her voice croaky with the effort. “I guess not then,” she said, pulling her legs up to her chest and curling up in the large, leather seat.

He sat in the seat beside her so that he wasn't towering over her anymore, his arms leaning on her armrest. “Lizzie, are you saying that you asked the concierge for my account because you wanted to know more about me?”

She nodded, turning away from him. But he wasn’t put off, standing up and moving to her other side, again taking the seat beside her. “Why didn’t you just ask me?” He inquired.

She shot him a look. “I did! You acted like I was asking something terrible. What’s so awful about me knowing your name? Raymond Houston. There, was it that bad?” She moved herself  to face the other way again, scowling in an effort not to cry.

“Is your curiosity satisfied?” He asked quietly, “or is there something else you wanted to know?” He waited for an answer but none came. She ignored him, her back turned to him, curled into a ball on her seat.

He stood suddenly, she heard the rustle of his slacks as he moved to stand in front of her, he leaned over her pinning her to the chair so that she couldn't turn left or right without being practically in his arms.

He bent his head, leaning into hers. “Lizzie, look at me,” he ordered gently.

“No,” she said, but she looked up at him anyway, with the resigned knowledge that her eyes would be red rimmed with the tears stinging them.

“I didn’t intend to accuse you,” he said evenly, “I only wanted to know why.”

“But you did accuse me,” she said bitterly. “What did you think? That I was trying to get your credit card details? Go on a shopping spree when I get home? You don't even _have_ credit cards. That’s weird for a gazillionaire,” she said.

He straightened, taking a step back from her, his eyebrows drawing together disapprovingly at her words. “I certainly did _not_ think you were planning a shopping spree. And how do you know I don’t have credit cards?”

She snorted. “I looked in your wallet. You don't even have a licence,” she said challengingly. Who cared if he knew she’d been snooping in his wallet? Things weren’t adding up.

His lips twitched. “I don’t, that's true.” He paused, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. “Afraid I won’t be able to take you to the drive-in?” He teased.

That was a mistake.

She exploded out of the chair, tears running down her face and rushed to the other end of the plane, hurling herself into the toilet cubicle and locking the door.

He was _making fun_ of her earlier declaration. Laughing at her assumption that he was her boyfriend. That was cruel. He was horrible.

She sat on the toilet seat, tears dripping down her face and quiet sobs choking her, wishing herself home already. She thought miserably of how happy she had been only yesterday. She had met a tennis superstar and she had...she had made love for the first time.

There was a knock on the door. “Lizzie, come out, I want to talk to you,” came his muffled voice through the door.

“Go away,” she called out crossly.

“I’ve given you ample time to collect yourself and relieve yourself if that’s why you’re actually in there,” he said. “Now, I would like you to come out and talk like the grown-up you claim you are.”

She winced. He was right, dammit.

She opened the door, pushing past him and sitting back down in her seat, waiting stiffly for him to come and sit beside her.

He didn’t sit though. He came around in front of her and knelt, looking up into her face. He reached for her hands. She let him, wondering what he was doing.

“Lizzie,” he said earnestly. “Do you have any notion at all of what I feel for you?” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers, one by one. “If you've been in doubt, darling girl...don't be anymore.”

She held her breath. Oh he could be so lovely. He made her feel...but it still didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t answered her questions. And what was he to her?

His eyes were fixed so intently on her face, it was magnetic. She could look at him forever.

He heaved himself up suddenly, still clutching her hand, sitting in the seat next to her and turning to her. “Words aren’t necessary for what we have, rather they trivialise it, Lizzie and I won't have that.”

“Will you tell me where you live? Take me to your house?” She asked tremulously.

He sighed. “I don't really _have_ a fixed address. I could spend a year in a villa in France and then the next year in a different place every week. I don’t have a licence, yes, but why would I need one? This is my life Lizzie. I don’t have a touchstone like other people do, an office to go to each day, a home, a family. But I have you,” he whispered, caressing her cheek, his eyes burning into hers. “You’re my touchstone.”

* * *

 

His car took her to her door, the sleek engine making very little noise as it pulled up at the curb in front of her house. The porch light was on.

She had traveled the rest of the way snugged into his side, at one point she’d fallen asleep on his shoulder. There had been tears after his declaration of her importance to him. She’d felt silly but he dried her tears, smiling at her, hushing her softly and holding her gently as though her tears mattered.

The weekend had been an emotional roller coaster. For both of them, it was clear to see from the strained lines around his eyes.

“Will you be there after tennis tomorrow?” She asked hopefully.

He hesitated. “If you’d like me to.”

“Of course I would,“ she said quickly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said, leaning in to kiss her.

Her heart was so full, she wasn't sure where to begin expressing it and she felt she’d burst if she didn't. She held his face with both her hands, kissing him over and over. How could she wait until tomorrow?

He looked a bit startled at the ferocity of her affection. “Mmph, Lizzie, darl-” She didn't give him a chance to finish.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his mouth, giving him one last kiss, seizing her bag and opening the door, darting out of the car. She felt she _had_ to tear herself away quickly or she’d never do it.

She walked up the driveway, throwing a look behind her when she reached her front door. The car was still idling at the curb. He was waiting to see her safely inside. She grinned delightedly. making her way into the house, closing the door with a slam.

“Lizzie! Quit slamming the front door,” her dad’s voice drifted in from the kitchen. Home.

“Hi dad, love you, too,” she called back cheekily, heading to her bedroom to drop her bag onto her bed and change before she came out for dinner.

She honestly half expected that it would be immediately obvious that everything had changed for her. She couldn't sit still at dinner, she still had a faint soreness as a reminder between her legs. Her dad was persistent in his questioning. Surely he must see she was lying through her teeth?

“How was it?” He’d asked with interest, spooning mashed potato and peas onto their plates.

“Yeah, good,” she said briefly, hoping to discourage him with her tone from asking anything more.

“I’m so glad you’re hanging around Alison again, Lizzie,” her dad said approvingly. “She’s a nice girl. I always liked her family.”

She snorted. “Dad, don't start on my friends.”

“What!” He protested in confusion, placing their meals on the table. “I thought you’d be happy to hea-”

“All you’re saying is that my other choices in friends have sucked. I wish you’d just leave it. _God_ ,” she snapped irritably.

He huffed a breath out of his nose. “Alright then, tell me how the hike went. Meet any bears?”

“No, but Rob has a cell phone now,” she said, suddenly remembering that he'd brought one into school last week. “Can I get one?”

“Hmm,” her dad's forehead furrowed. “So he took it on a camping trip? Why would he need a cell phone on a camping trip? I thought the idea was to get back to nature and leave technology behind,” he said, clearly unimpressed with the idea.

“Yeah well,” she said non committedly, “I just thought I could get one, it'd be useful if you were ever working late, you'd be able to tell me to start dinner, or you know, if something happened at school, I could let you know.”

“No, I think it’s fairly unnecessary,” he said slowly. “Sorry butterball, but just because everyone else is jumping on the bandwagon, doesn't mean you need to.” He set his shoulders as though he expected an outburst.

She just sighed. She’d known it was a long shot.

* * *

 

School the next day was actually a lot of fun. She’d breezed through English and Biology and zoned her way through Gym. Even when they got to play tennis in Gym class, no one ever actually tried so it was pretty lame. But it gave her space to think, to go over every second of her weekend in detail, playing it over and over in her head. His eyes when he asked her if she was _sure_ , his lips dropping kisses along her thighs, his voice in her ear telling her she was beautiful, the way he panted her name, the sheen of sweat on his body as he collapsed, sated on top of her.

She fell into a dreamy reverie and for the first time ever, she was hit right in the face playing dodgeball.

“Oh my god, Liz, what the hell!” A  few voices of surprise cried out. She was usually the last one up.

And then there was lunch. She’d walked through the cafeteria with her orange, plastic tray, misty eyed, not looking where she was going. She bumped right into Alison.

“Oh! Hey Liz, I was wondering where you were,” her friend exclaimed, grabbing the juice on her own tray as it rocked unsteadily from Lizzie’s jolting her. “I wanted to go over some math before the test this afternoon. Wanna go to the library?”

She didn’t. She wanted to sit down with her friend and tell her everything. She had lost her _virginity_. It was something they’d talked about in middle school and freshman year, giggling over it, whispering about it, reading books they’d probably have gotten into trouble for reading together. They’d promised each other that whoever was first would spill _everything_. But she couldn’t. She was so lucky and she couldn't say a thing.

She smiled. “Sure, I didn't study at all this weekend. Revision would be good.”

The two girls inhaled their lunch and headed to the library to study. And she tried to study, tried to concentrate on the math problems but her brain wasn’t co-operating.

“Hey Alison,” she whispered. “You know how we said that whoever was first would tell the other everything?”

Alison’s forehead wrinkled, not understanding. “First?”

“You know, sex,” she said in a hushed tone, conscious she was talking about sex in a quiet library.

“Oh,” her friend said, her expression clearing. “Yeah, what about it...” her eyes widened suddenly, “you didn’t ,” she hissed excitedly.

“Shh, I just wanted to know if you and Rob…”

“Oh, no we haven’t,” she whispered back. “He wants to. I mean he’s asked. But I want to wait until homecoming, you know? Make it special,” she grinned mischievously, “and I kinda like making him wait.”

She couldn't help herself at that. She laughed with her friend.

“Be quiet in the library!” Barked the librarian, sending both girls into further hushed giggles.

* * *

 

She didn’t know why she felt so shy at the end of the school day. She had said goodbye to Alison outside of her Math class and shouldered her bag, purposefully striding outside, leaving the school grounds but with each step she took, she grew more jittery.

He was waiting outside the car, leaning against the grey, late-model sedan.

“Hi,” she said nervously, stopping short, just outside of his reach.

He straightened, his eyes travelling over her, noting the distance she’d left between them. His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Having regrets?”

“No,” she said, alarmed. She moved forward a few paces into his space and he reflexively opened his arms for her. She stepped into his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest. He felt like home.

Her head was tucked under his chin and so she felt his voice vibrate through her when he spoke. “I want to go down to the creek today, is that okay?” He rumbled.

She had no problems with that. It was odd though. There was a strange new energy between them. As though they were getting to know each other from the start once again.

They walked along the banks of the creek, he held her hand in his, gently swinging it back and forth. He was so quiet. She found herself talking to fill in the gaps, of school, of teachers, dodgeball even. She ran out of things to say and still he was so quiet.

“Are you alright?” She asked hesitantly.

He passed a hand over his face, his eyes looking a little tired. They had reached their bench. He pulled her to sit down next to him, turning to her, a weary smile on his face. “Do you believe in reincarnation, Lizzie?”

She snorted. “Heh, no.”

He heaved a slow, heavy sigh, still watching her, his eyes roving her face. “Sometimes I do, and I think of all the miserable things crawling on this earth that might befit me in the next life. I’ve earned the short life of a meal-worm many times over, I’m sure...” He stopped, ruminating on his confession and snorted. “Well, sometimes I’m sure.” He grinned at her. “It’s not often you’ll hear me admit to uncertainty. Don't you go revealing my weaknesses to my enemies now, will you?” He teased, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him.

She had been looking back at him with growing concern. “I hate it when you talk about yourself like that,” she said softly. “Why can’t you just be happy?”

“Ah, you see,” he said, gently caressing her face with his hand, tilting her chin up toward him, “I’m only happy when I’m in the company of my girl.”

**  
**And he kissed her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bad heart,  
> got a mean streak,   
> a good way of leaving you weak,   
> got time to kill,   
> but time don’t equal love,  
> it just reminds you of the water,  
> we can’t get above  
> ~ "Sirens, DA & The Jones"

* * *

“Yes, an A!” Alison crowed triumphantly as their teacher moved around the room, handing out the test results from the other day.

“B plus,” said Lizzie, crestfallen. “Ah well, I guess I didn't study. I really should have,” she said uncomfortably, leaning back in her chair.

Alison glanced over at her test. “So what were you doing this weekend then? I thought you'd be studying.”

She didn't meet her friends eyes. “Not much. I was just being lazy, I suppose.”

“Lazy?” She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah right Lizzie. How long have I known you? You're the last person I'd call lazy.”

She shifted in her seat, her guilty conscience pricking her at having to lie to her friend. There wasn't any other way though. It was becoming more and more of a problem. All she could think about was Raymond and he was the one thing she was forbidden to talk about. Alison had already noticed she was unusually quiet most lunch times.

“Well, not lazy,” she amended. “Just distracted. Hey,” she said brightly, a thought coming to her. “Do you want to see a movie this weekend?”

“Yeah, sure, actually I was going to ask you the same thing. Rob, Karishma, Matt and I wanted to hang out at the mall,” she said nonchalantly. “We were going to see a movie too. Come hang out with us?”

“Okay,” Lizzie said slowly, remembering Matt had been the guy who wanted her number.

“Speaking of Matt,” Alison said, trying for a light, uninterested tone. She wasn’t fooling anybody. “Have you thought more about him?”

The bell rang and the girls companionably packed up their things. Lizzie hesitated amidst the scramble to the door. “I guess. I don't think so though, Alison. I’m kinda thinking about someone else,” she temporized, hoping desperately that her friend wouldn’t ask for more detail. She did of course.

“Who! Who is it?” Alison asked eagerly. “If I’d known, I wouldn't have encouraged Matt!”

“It's no one you know,” she said quickly, hurrying forward out the door.

They headed to the cafeteria together to meet with Rob and Karishma, the girl who had moved to Nebraska from Wisconsin a few months before. Lizzie didn't know Karishma well. She was often at drama club and divided her lunchtimes between their little group and her drama club friends.

“Hey Liz,” said Rob easily as they arrived with their trays. Rob and Karishma had already sat down. “Has your dad got a new car? Some nice wheels,” he said, impressed.

“What? No, he hasn't,” she said, confused. Why would he think that?

“I was trying to catch up to you yesterday, I was gonna walk with you to the bus stop. But you got into a car. It wasn't your dad’s work truck. Pretty hot looking car, too,” he said, whistling in admiration.

“Um, no, it was a friend of my dad’s actually,” she said, improvising quickly. “He’s staying with us for a few days and said he would pick me up. Save me a bus trip.”

“Huh, well, nice car. Tell him I said so,” said Rob, flashing her a grin.

She smiled weakly as the conversation moved on to other things. Her stomach was tight with the fear of discovery and she didn't really hear anyone around her. How long could she do this? Lie to her friends and keep Raymond a secret? It was on the tip of her tongue now. All she had to say was that she was seeing an older guy. His name is Raymond and he’s wonderful. She could ask them to keep it secret. They’d understand. Parents were awful. They don’t get these things like friends do.

She opened her mouth, about to say something when she was stopped by an elbow in the ribs from Alison.

“Liz, you with us?” She prompted.

Lizzie blinked. “Sorry, I missed it. Whats happening?”

“Rob was saying he and Matt have a game coming up next week. Wanna come?”

“Oh sure,” she said, picking up the apple on her tray and taking a bite. She caught Rob’s eye. He was grinning like an idiot. “As long as it’s not like some sort of date with Matt,” she added cautiously. She hoped it wasn’t. That would not be fun explaining to Raymond.

Although the idea of him being a little jealous...wasn’t so bad.

“Lizzie’s got a crush,” said Alison animatedly. “You haven't said who it is though, Liz…”

She grimaced uncomfortably, chewing on the mouthful of her apple and thinking wildly. She was conscious that Rob looked crestfallen. Maybe his friend Matt was being more persistent about getting her number than she'd thought. “It’s just someone from tennis.” she lied.

“Aha! So what’s his name?”

Ugh. Alison was looking at her with an excited grin on her face, clearly happy for her friend. Lizzie felt a stab of regret. She would need to talk to Raymond again about this. It was making her miserable. She stole a look at the table over from them, catching a glimpse of a football player she knew by name only. She’d barely spoken two words to Daniel before. He was one of the nasty jocks who only dated cheerleaders and pushed around kids younger and skinnier than him. But she couldn’t think of anything better just then. She swallowed the chewed up apple in her mouth. It went down slowly, leaving a lump in her throat. “Daniel,” she said. “His name’s Daniel.”

* * *

 

If Rob had followed her yesterday and she hadn't even noticed, that meant she was getting careless. Or they were getting too predictable. Lizie left school that afternoon keeping an eye out for anyone going the same way that she was. She waited five minutes longer than she usually would by her locker just to be sure and quickly made her way down the end of the street where Raymond was waiting for her.

“Hey,” she said smilingly, this time not hesitating, she reached for him, running a hand across his chest as he opened the car door for her. She slid onto the seat, scooting over for him as he climbed in after her.

He didn't waste any time. As soon as the door was closed he turned to her, gripping her hips and hoisting her on top of him. “Mine,” he growled teasingly. She threw her arms around his neck, her heart singing. He wanted her. And she wanted him.

He kissed her, his mouth hungrily exploring hers, _biting_ her. “Hey,” she said, pulling back, a little breathless at his aggression. “Where are we going today.”

He said nothing, just growled and gave her a frighteningly intense look, pushing her shirt up around her arms, leaving her exposed in just her tangerine bra. Her stomach did somersaults. He buried his face in between her breasts. God, she wished they were bigger. He seemed to like them though, he was sucking on the skin above her bra line, making hungry little noises that were giving her butterflies and oh god, his hand was wandering under her skirt and stroking her through her panties.

_This is crazy_ , she thought. _How does he turn me into a puddle just with one touch?_

He still hadn't answered her though.

“Ray? If-if we’re going any further maybe we should get a motel,” she suggested; just as his fingers were questing underneath the crotch of her panties, touching her intimately. She arched her back, crying out as he slipped a finger inside of her.

“Oh god, oh god,” she cried.

“No motels,” he grunted. “I’m not taking you to a cheap motel.”

She wasn’t listening. His finger had curled inside of her and he was thrusting into her. She seized his face with both hands, sealing her mouth to his, trying not to squeal. He felt so good inside her, she couldn't help but rock her hips in time with his thrusts.

“Do you like this, Lizzie? Do you want more?” He asked, smirking knowingly at her as she tried to catch her breath.

“I want you,” she whispered, shivering with desire, touching her cheek to his. Her skin felt like it was on fire, flushed, dry and hot. He ran his palm down her flat stomach and she whimpered at the contact. “Please,” she choked out as he removed his other hand from her, coming to grip both hips again.

He hummed, considering her. She must have looked a dazed mess because he laughed richly, capturing her mouth again, swiping teasingly at her lips with his tongue. “ _You_ are an irresistible monkey. And it’s lucky you’re a flexible little thing because I am going to bend you over here and now,” he said, his voice deepening into a growl. He grinned at her. “Legs up darling. It’s time for those panties to come off.”

* * *

 

It wasn’t the same as when they’d been at the hotel. There was no soft bed, no romantic lighting and lazy mornings to spend cuddling. But it was still exhilarating.

And he was right. She was flexible.

“Ray,” she said, curled up on the seat, leaning into him, her chest still heaving from excitement, a light sheen of sweat beading along her collarbone. “Can I ask you something?” She had to ask him now. He was humming a tune, an arm around her, a relaxed expression on his face. Best to ask while he was in a good mood.

“Hmm?” He said distractedly, placing a kiss on her forehead, then her cheek. “What is it, baby?”

“I know you've said no before, but Rob saw me get into your car yesterday. I really think I need to at least tell Alison about us,” she said with trepidation.

He pulled away from her, his face fast becoming a thundercloud. “Did you tell anyone? Did you?” He asked grimly.

Her face puckered at his tone. “No, I didn’t. I’m just asking you if I can.” Why had he ruined their time together speaking to her in that way? She was just _asking_.

He sighed in frustration, “Lizzie, we’ve discussed this. If you start telling your friends, soon the whole town will be aware that you are conducting a relationship with an older man. I say this to protect _you_ , sweetheart. There are scant consequences for a man of my situation and...means. Use your imagination, I know you have an excellent one,” he said, tapping her lightly on the head. “How would you like it if your friends parents started asking you not to come to their houses any longer? You’ve told me you enjoy Alison's family dinners.” He ran his thumb along her jaw. “Would you like it if Alison's mother felt you might be a bad influence on her little brother?”

She hung her head, tears stinging her eyes. “I just want to say something about you,” she whispered. “I had to make up a guy I’m interested in today just to get them off my back. There’s this guy…” She stopped, suddenly unwilling to tell him about Matt. She wasn’t sure why.

“What guy?” He asked, a note of ire in his voice. She’d forgotten that the only real experience he’d had of her talking about boys her own age had been when guys at school had been accosting her in the halls.

He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, his eyebrows had crept together in a worried scowl. He looked disturbed and she hated that. She didn’t want to upset him. “Lizzie, you need to tell me if you’re still being harassed.”

“No, no,” she said, quick to reassure him. “Never mind, it’s nothing.”

He gave her a searching look, no longer relaxed or distracted. She usually loved it when he was this focused on her but she felt a bit hunted right now. And they were getting off topic. She drooped her head onto his shoulder. “It would just be nice,” she said, “to do normal things with my...with you. Alison and Rob go to the movies and on dates all the time,” she said plaintively.

“Does Rob take Alison to New York?” He asked archly. “Does he arrange front row tickets to a tennis game and introduce her to tennis stars?” He was getting into his stride now, his voice lilting with energy as he ticked off the comparisons between the boy and the man. “Does he...” he pulled her into him, nuzzling his nose into her hair, “...make her squeal the same way you do when my fingers are inside you, hmm?”

She sucked in a shuddering breath as he massaged her breasts with his free hand, rubbing his thumb across her hardening nipples, tugging gently on them. She placed her hand over his wandering one. “I'm not...I'm not comparing you to him,” she breathed earnestly. I-, I um…”. She couldn't think straight with him touching her like this.

“That's just as well,” he responded sleekly, “I believe I'd be insulted to hear you compare me to a green boy of fifteen.” He pulled her in for a kiss.

He was intoxicating. She had further arguments but they were all scattered in her head when he looked at her that way and touched her like he was.

“God, Lizzie,” he groaned, his breath hot on her face, “you’re a little witch. I don't know how you do this to me.” He pushed her down into the seat. “Lie back,” he panted, pulling her legs over his shoulders and moving over her.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey boy, hey boy  
> Deep down in your heart  
> Do you really know? Do you really know?  
> Hey girl, hey girl  
> Deep down in your heart  
> Do you really know? Do you really know?  
> ~ "We're So Lost, Princess Chelsea"

* * *

 

Matt was a nice guy. Lizzie shouldn't have been surprised really. He'd been cool to talk to at Rob’s party. They were into the same things. He was okay looking. Not a heartthrob but Lizzie didn't go for the pretty boys anyway.

Not that she was going for Matt. She had Raymond.

“...so I said to him, I can take my shoes off, but it's your funeral. And then I _did_ take my shoes off and he _wished_ it was his funeral,” guffawed Matt, in his element around the table at Denny’s. He flashed a proud grin at Lizzie. “I'd worn the same socks for like a _month_.” He picked up his drink, slurping from the straw. “Last time coach ever asked me to take my shoes off!”

She laughed with the group at the table and sighed inwardly. Matt was really nice. In the same way that Rob was nice. A good friend, someone to laugh with, hang out after school with maybe, but she couldn't imagine kissing him or being touched by him. Her mind wandered to Raymond. The grooves above his mouth, his kissable lips, the slight lines around his eyes that made him look so masculine and his smile, almost feline, like he had secrets he was keeping just to himself.

How could any boy compare?

Alison cleared her throat, looking at Matt expectantly. Lizzie shot Matt a quick look. The whole table had gone quiet and Matt looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue. She glanced around the table at Alison and Rob. Everyone seemed like they were waiting for Matt to say something.

What?

“So Liz,” said Matt self consciously, “there's that carnival coming just out of town in a few weeks. Do you wanna go? I thought I could drive you...and these two,” he said gesturing across the table to Alison and Rob.

“Oh, um,” she stumbled, cursing Alison for putting her in this situation. Her friend _knew_ he had been going to ask her this. And she couldn't really say no without looking really mean. She kinda wanted to go though. It was so far out of town and her dad was so busy that she'd thought there would be little chance of getting there. “Sure,” she said, giving in. It's not like it was a date right? Just a group of friends going to a carnival.

“It's a date then,” he said, flashing her his megawatt grin.

Oh man.

* * *

 

She didn’t feel like she had to ask _permission_ exactly. It wasn’t like he owned her. It was just well...the right thing to do. To tell him. She would tell him. Definitely. As soon as he arrived.

She checked her new pink diamanté watch as she waited for his car to pull up in front of Denny’s. She’d told everyone that her dad was picking her up. They’d all left, piling into Matt’s old car.

It was a big Saturday for Lizzie. Usually she did her homework, did some chores around the house and then she’d spend the whole afternoon and early evening with Raymond if he was in town. When he wasn't in town she would go and play tennis with Briony.

He’d been surprised when she told him that she was going to the basketball game with Alison. Oh, he’d tried to hide it straight away, telling her to enjoy herself with a warm smile on his face, assuring her that he’d just see her another day. But she’d asked him if he wouldn't mind spending an hour or two in the early evening anyway.

“Come on, where are you?” She muttered anxiously, clutching her tote bag tightly, waiting in the parking lot. He was twenty minutes late and he was _never_ late. She felt an anxious flutter in her belly.

But then, a luxury sedan pulled into the parking lot. An Audi from the looks of it. She’d stolen that exact model once if she remembered correctly.

He climbed neatly out of the chauffeured car the second it rolled to a smooth stop, anxiety written across his face. “Lizzie, I apologise. Tardiness is an abhorrent failing. I don't tolerate it, least of all in myself.” He reached for her, all conciliatory attention. She melted. He made her feel like the only girl in his universe.

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling. “I wasn’t waiting long.” She jumped into the car as soon as he opened the door. He followed her in, throwing a look of distaste at the Denny's front entrance.

He turned to her and leaned in to kiss her lightly on the mouth. “Perhaps a cell phone might have been a convenient accessory in this situation. I may just purchase one for you.” He put his arms around her as he was speaking. She nestled into him, her head under his chin.

“Sure,” she said eagerly, “I’ve been wanting one for ages.”

“Alright then,” he agreed, contentedly stroking her hair as she lounged against him. He lay his other hand over hers, squeezing it briefly. “I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise. She remembered the last time he'd had a surprise for her. The disastrous roller skating adventure. “What is it?” She asked cautiously.

“Settle down now, don't get so excited,” he said, mocking her reticence.

“Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that,” she twisted her body around to face him. He looked disappointed in her reaction, his face was creased in a slight frown. “I'm down for a surprise,” she said, twisting her fingers around a button on his elegant, grey jacket. “What kind of surprise are we talking about?”

“Ah, that would be telling,” he said grandly, smirking at her. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a flip cell phone and flipped it open, pressing some digits. “It's me,” he spoke tersely into the phone, “I'll need a cell phone, a new one. Have it delivered to me this evening.” He paused, listening to the voice on the other end of the phone, “yes, at the new...house. Fine, thank you.” He flipped the phone shut with a businesslike flick of his thumb, flashing her a brilliant smile. “So how was the game?” He asked cheerily.

She stared. “Who was _that_?”

“An employee,” he said, pursing his lips slightly. “Did your friend’s team win?”

“He works on weekends, does he?” She wasn't sure why she wasn't letting this go but it had been weird. Despite his businesslike tone it hadn't been...businesslike.

“I have multiple assistants on call, Lizzie. Is there a reason you're so curious about my business? I assure you, it's tedious and unpalatable work. It's not remotely within the sphere of your interest.”

She chewed on her lip. “Why don't you let me be the judge of that?” She asked, feeling a nagging curiosity she couldn't dispel.

He took a deep breath, his lips thinning. “Very well, why don't you come along over the holidays and help me with my work? I've got a lot of old filing you could do...it's almost as old as you are actually,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it. Your work is boring. Why do you do it though? You're so...well off….you could do whatever you liked...at least now, surely?”

He smiled fondly. “When you do the same thing for a while and you're good at it, you get into the habit of keeping on,” he said, his cheek spasming strangely. “Well, that’s one reason to keep on at any rate. I can't say I saw myself where I am now when I was your age. Certainly my work offers its...compensations though.” He draped his arms over her shoulders, gently pulling her into him. “We’re almost there.”

The chauffeur had been driving them out of town, to an area well known for its ritzy, exclusive mansions with rolling acres and private pontoons backing onto the river. They pulled up at a large, forbidding gate and the chauffeur used the intercom system to identify them. The gate slid back silently on its electronic rails. Lizzie had left the lounging comfort of Ray’s arms to plaster her face to the window.

_What on earth,_ she wondered as they pulled up in the neat, gravel driveway of an enormous mansion. She turned back to look at Ray. He had a faint smile playing on his lips and a sleek cat that got the cream expression settled on his face. Well, he had _something_ up his sleeve.

“I'm dying to know what's going on,” she said with a giggle. “What is this place?”

“Just wait,” he said mysteriously, opening his car door and briskly making his way to the front of the house, leaving her scrambling to follow him. The entrance was an imposing, heavy double door, which swung open just as Ray approached, with Lizzie right behind him.

A solemn looking, grey haired, older man with a slight frame met them just inside, standing to the left of them. He was dressed in a suit, looking like he’d fit in at any boardroom meeting but his manner was one of a butler. He inclined his head deferentially to Raymond.

“It’s ready, sir,” he said sonorously.

Raymond turned to her, gesturing down the hall. “Right this way,” he said, grinning like a school boy.

He led her through the house, its grandeur startling enough to halt her in her tracks every few feet. He had to double back to scoop her up again because she’d fallen behind, just staring at a lifesize marble statue on a plinth of what appeared to be a Grecian woman in robes softly folding against her lovely curves.

“Is it real?” She asked, awed at the sight, wanting to touch but frightened to in case it _was_ real.

“Roman copy of an original Greek,” he said, watching her face interestedly. “It was fished from a shipwreck actually, over a hundred years ago. Do you like it?”

“I love it,” she breathed. “It makes me think of all the places I want to go...the Louvre, The Uffizi gallery, it’s just amazing…”

He let her just stare at it for a few moments, enraptured. She walked around it slowly, dreaming of the day when she'd walk the halls of galleries and museums festooned with ancient statues.

“Lizzie? Shall we continue? This isn't the surprise,” he said with an amused quirk of his lips as she looked up at him, her eyes shining.

She followed him down a large, winding staircase of polished pine, straight into a darkened room. She could see faintly, the light from the door above her at the top of the stairs was shining through. It was a converted basement. There was a white, wall to wall screen at the far end of the room and a plush two seat couch sat right in the center of the room, a small, round table placed directly in front of it.

“What…” She trailed off, confused. It looked like a cinema, kind of. If there were more seats.

There was a flickering noise as the projector came to life and light streamed from a box fixed from the ceiling at the back of the room, next to where they'd entered from.

He was looking at her, his eyes bright with glee. “I thought perhaps you'd like to see a movie with me,” he said, his voice vibrating with the delight of sharing his surprise with her.

She looked around again, her gaze sweeping the room. He had done all of this for _her_.

It was lovely, so romantic and thoughtful, and far more than she deserved. She was the luckiest girl in the world.

And it wasn't at all what she wanted.

She felt a surge of shame. He didn't understand then. She wanted to take him on dates to the movies yes, but part of that was being able to publicly be seen together, for him to casually hold her hand in line to buy tickets or kiss her on the cheek at dinner.

She arranged her face into a pleased expression, taking the hand he held out to her. She would make sure he knew how happy she was that he'd gone to all this trouble. She'd feel terrible if he had an inkling that she wasn't happy.

“Do you like it?” He asked nervously. “It's about as big as the arts theater in town. It's not as big as the the one you and your friends frequent but I think you'll be impressed with the the film,” he said, sounding more confident as he explained himself.

“I love it,” she said, desperately swallowing the lump forming in her throat. Was she selfish? This was such a grand gesture and all she could feel was sadness that he hadn't understood her.

“I thought we could watch a new film that’s coming out. The James Bond one. _‘The World is Not Enough_.’”

She looked at him curiously. “I’ve seen the trailer. But it’s not released yet.”

He chuckled comfortably. “I may have called in some favors, used some connections…” he trailed off, waiting intently for her reaction.

She threw her hands up. “This is so cool. It’s crazy,” she said, shooting him another look, “but awesome.”

She snuggled into him on the couch, swallowing her disappointment, ruthlessly pushing it down. She wouldn't ruin this and well...he _had_ managed to put his hands on a movie no one at school had seen yet. She’d have bragging rights.

She settled back comfortably to enjoy Pierce Brosnan at his most suave.

* * *

 

Lizzie stood outside the front door of her house, fumbling for her keys. Ray had a cell phone waiting for her as they left. He’d programmed a number in it, explaining he changed phones often for security reasons so it was good for a week but he'd text the new number each time it changed.

Security? It was a bit much but she supposed his work was sensitive and he probably had nosy competitors.

She opened the door and stepped into the house.

Lizzie knew her dad was home. His work truck was in the driveway. She slammed the door and paused. Silence. For just a moment she wasn't sure what was odd about that but as she took a few steps into the carpeted hallway, she realized her dad hadn't yelled at her about slamming the door. In fact, she couldn't hear him at all. And all the lights in the house were off, save for the porch light.

“Dad?” She called out, dropping her bag on the floor in the living room. The only sound in the room was the faint tick of her grandmothers old cuckoo clock, a relic of her honeymoon in the Black Forest of Germany. It had been the one thing her dad and Aunt June had tussled over when her grandmother died. The cuckoo clock that they'd grown up with in their old family kitchen.

Now it ticked away in the living room. She jumped as the cuckoo made an appearance. It was seven o'clock. She'd meant to get in earlier and had been conscious that her dad would be wondering where she was and would probably have dinner cooling on the table.

So where was he?

She felt an unease deep in her belly. Careening around the house like a stray tennis ball, she rushed through the kitchen, turning lights on as she went. The kitchen was empty. She ricocheted through the hall and down to her bedroom. Her dad's room was the next one down. He wasn't there either. She doubled back to the last place he could be. His study.

“Dad?” She called again, her anxiety bubbling up and spilling into her voice. Why were all the lights off? His study door was closed. Was that the faint light of his desk lamp coming in from under the door?

She knocked on his study door tentatively. “Dad, are you there?” She asked. She turned the doorknob and stepped into the room.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. There he was, bent over his desk, on the phone. He hadn't even noticed her standing in the doorway.

“Alright, so tell mommy I'll be there first thing in the morning, and look after your little brother in the meantime, okay Reuben?” He said in a worn voice.

He was talking to her cousin Reuben. Why was he going to be there tonight? What was going on?

He hung up the phone, realizing as he did so that she was standing in the doorway, staring at him. “Oh! Butterball. I didn't see you. How long have you been there?” He asked with some concern.

“Just walked in. What's wrong? Why are you going to be at Aunt June's tonight?”

He stood from his chair, his shoulders hunched, a drawn look on his face. “Listen hon, Harry's been in a car accident. He's in surgery now and your aunt is at the hospital waiting for news.” He took a large breath, as though he had forgotten to breathe properly until now, sucking air into his lungs. “I'm going to start driving tonight. I should be there by morning, June needs someone to look after Reuben and Bobby.” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “God knows there's not much else I can do.”

She stood rooted to the spot. She felt as though she had been submerged into a bath of freezing ice water. Her fingers and toes felt numb. It hurt to breathe and her eyes stung fiercely. Her cousin Harry. Her cousin who would take her roller skating, who taught her how to tie her shoelaces when no one else had been able to teach her the trick of it. Her cousin who would watch _The Little Mermaid_ with her over and over again in the Christmas holidays, uncomplaining and singing along to her favorite bits.

Harry was hurt. He was in surgery. Her Harry. More brother than cousin despite the few times a year that she got to see him.

She was too shocked to cry. Her face must have looked dreadful because her dad crossed the floor in alarm, folding her into a bear hug.

“It's okay, Lizzie,” he said gruffly. “He's in a large hospital and he has good surgeons. He'll be okay, honey.”

He held her tightly, rocking her gently as she struggled to breathe. She _needed_ to cry but no tears were coming. And then anxiety hit her with a whoomph. She gasped.

“You've gotta go,” she said breathlessly, pulling back. “I'll help you pack. You've gotta be there for them.” She felt the tears coming then. But she didn't want them anymore. The first wave of shock had washed over her and she was just eager now to be of some help, even if all she could do was not be an obstacle in getting her dad there.

“I've already packed. I was just waiting for you to get home. I've left some numbers on the fridge, okay? Mrs.Green next door knows what's happened and you can call her if you run into any problems.” He took hold of her shoulders, looking searchingly down at her. “Are you alright Lizzie? I know how close you are to Harry. Your aunt June said to tell you she knows how upset you'll be and she’ll tell him to expect a visit from you soon.”

She nodded, forcing a wobbly smile to her lips. Why did her lips feel like rubber? Numb and awful.

She waved goodbye to her dad as he drove off in his truck under an hour later. He'd left a microwave meal for her, taking a few pieces of fruit from the bowl on the kitchen bench for himself. He hadn't wanted to delay to eat a meal.

After her dad had gone, she sat quietly at the kitchen table, staring at her chicken and three vegetable dinner floating unattractively amongst congealed gravy in the tin foil.

She let the tears fall then.

****  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My love is wasted, sorry for this, I never meant to be, hurting ourselves, hurting ourselves  
> And I'm complicated, you won't get me, I have trouble, understanding myself, understanding myself  
> And my love is wasted, sorry for this, I never meant to be, hurting ourselves, hurting ourselves  
> And I'm complicated, you won't get me, I have trouble, understanding myself, understanding myself  
> ~ "Jungle, Emma Louise"

* * *

 

The half-eaten microwave meal lay forgotten on the dining room table. Lizzie wasn't hungry. It had been all she could do to force down a few mouthfuls of food. Now, all she wanted was to sleep. But she wandered the empty house disconsolately, drifting from room to room, no aim in mind. She found herself in front of the cabinet in the corner of the living room that held all the family photo albums.

It was an easy few hours, spent lost in the memories of her childhood. She laughed as she turned the pages of the album, seeing the photo of her and her cousins, all dressed up as Santa’s elves. Her dad had been Santa that year, with a pillow down his shirt. He hadn't fooled anyone, even little six year old Lizzie had been wise to the game.

She hadn't exactly ever stopped believing in Santa Claus. She'd just never started. She remembered her dad trying to convince her of his existence. The milk and cookies left out on Christmas Eve, the presents, all from “Santa”, the deer prints left scattered about the house on Christmas morning. Only Harry hadn't tried to convince her. He'd laughed and told the family to leave her alone, that she was too smart for them all.

She turned another page. Oh, there was Harry at his senior prom. She'd been so excited for him, eagerly awaiting the photos that year. She had met his girlfriend in the summer holidays and immediately adored her. Stacey was everything she had wanted to be. Lizzie smiled, bent over the album, sitting cross legged on the floor. She remembered how Harry had taken her to her middle school dance after he'd finished high school. He'd been visiting them without the rest of the family, which didn't happen often. She'd had him to herself and she'd claimed every minute of his time. He always treated her like she was his favorite kid sister, spoiled her rotten really.

If Harry died, she didn't think she'd ever want to leave the house again. He was such a safe driver, even her dad had let him drive the work truck when he'd stayed with them. And her dad didn't let other people drive his truck often. What could have happened? It must have been the other driver's fault, she decided with a surge of anger at the faceless driver who had done this thing to Harry.

She turned the page again. She would just stretch out a bit on the carpet, she thought, blearily. Just so she was more comfortable while she had a look at the next album. There was the camping trip both families had gone on a few years back. Her cousin Reuben had played a nasty trick on Lizzie, putting a fake spider in her hair. She'd punched him in retaliation and had gotten into a _lot_ of trouble over it.

Reuben and Bobby were twelve and ten. They were pains in the neck, she thought affectionately as she drifted off, sprawled on the living room floor.

When she woke, light was streaming in from between the curtains of the bay window. She blinked, her eyes felt scratchy and tired. She was lying on something hard, digging into her hip. She sat up and reached into her pocket.

The cell phone that Raymond had given her yesterday. She'd forgotten about it, hadn't even thought of him since her dad had given her the news about Harry. But now all her feelings for him came rushing in at once, the intensity overwhelming her. She hunched over, choking down a sob, examining the phone through tear filled eyes.

He'd put his phone number in the speed dial, just like he said he would. He'd told her it was for emergencies only, not for general chit chat. There were some meetings he couldn't afford to be interrupted on.

She pressed the green call button, holding the phone to her ear. If this wasn't an emergency, what was?

“Yes?” Came a deep, unfamiliar voice on the other end of the phone.

She panicked, hitting the red end call button. Wrong number? Who had it been? Where was Raymond? He was supposed to have flown to New York after dropping her at home last night. Was he still there?

The cell phone in her hand started to ring. A shrill tone that made her flinch in surprise. She looked at the number on the screen. Well, it was his number. She answered it. “Hello,” she said tentatively.

“Lizzie!” His rich, warm voice traveled through the phone, pulling a sigh of deep relief from her chest. He'd called her back.

“Ray, it's my cousin,” she poured out in a rush. “He's been in an accident and my dad is gone and he's in surgery and I'm so worried. I wish you were here.”

“Woah, sweetheart, slow down,” he said in a measured, soothing tone, “start from the beginning.”

He was so calm in a crisis. She was grateful for his voice, it slowed her thoughts down and he helped her put them in order. He asked the right questions and reassured her in just the way that she needed him to.

“Lizzie, I can be there tonight if you need me,” he offered.

“It's okay,” she said reluctantly. He had business that was supposed to last him days, he'd told her that the night before. She'd be interrupting him if she asked him to come to her now.

“You want me there,” he said. A statement, not a question.

“Aren't you busy?” She responded in a small voice. “And I'm fine. The neighbor knows me and dad’ll only be gone a couple of days.”

There was a pause. She could almost hear him considering her words. “I'll be there tonight. Invite me over for dinner, will you?” He asked playfully.

She smiled. “I'll make something nice then.”

“Oh sweetheart, you don't have to do that. I can bring some Thai with me.”

She felt her forehead wrinkling. She wasn't a great cook but she wanted to do something nice for him. He was always doing wonderful things for her. “Just let me cook. I'll make something awesome,” she promised. And then she had a flash of inspiration. Her grandmother's well worn Julia Child’s cookbook. The beef bourguignon was supposedly the most famous recipe. She remembered her grandmother had made it once when it had been her dad’s birthday.

She hung up the phone and went to the bookcase in her dad's study, pulling out the heavy, old cookbook. The cover was faded and most pages were dog eared, with the occasional smear of sauce across a recipe. Yes, this was perfect, she thought excitedly. This was a real date night.

She flew into the kitchen to see what ingredients she already had. Carrots, check, onions, check, beef stock, check. She had a small panic when she realized the recipe called for red wine. But she found a bottle of Cote du Rhone in her dad's little wine rack in the basement. That was handy, she wasn't sure how she would have managed to get her hands on a bottle otherwise.

And then for the rest of the ingredients. She hopped on her bike and cycled down to their local grocery store, smiling brightly at the cashier.

“Cooking up a storm, are we?” Asked the older lady at the checkout in a friendly voice.

She flashed a grin in return as her items were swiped through. “I sure am! Wish me luck.”

The cashier laughed along with her. “Luck!” She said genially as Lizzie paid for her groceries.

It was going to be the best thing she'd ever made. How hard could it be? Sure it was a two hour prep which seemed a bit long but maybe it was because the beef just needed to simmer slowly. She'd check out the recipe later, she thought.

She needed to clean the house but more importantly, her bedroom.

She swept through her room, ripping down the posters she had up of Christina Aguilera and the Backstreet Boys. She usually slept with Polka Dot Bear. Her soft, white teddy bear that she'd drawn green polka dots on when she was little when she'd pretended that he had chicken pox and she was playing doctor. But he really didn't need to be on her bed tonight. Not if she was planning on bringing Raymond into her bedroom. She popped him up on the shelf above her bed with all her other stuffed toys.

It sent little sparks of excitement through her just thinking of it. His arms around her, moving inside her in bed once again. They had done it in his car a couple of times now but it wasn't the same as when he'd taken her to bed the first time.

It would be nice to have him soft and slow again. No elbows in her face, or bodies pressed against the back of the seat while he took her from behind. They wouldn't need to hurry. She could finally be the one to romance _him_. As an equal.

If only her dad would call to let her know things were okay with Harry, she'd feel like the world was absolutely perfect.

She waited until the late afternoon before calling her Aunt June’s house. Her cousin Reuben answered on the first ring.

“Hey Rube, it's Liz. Can you put my dad on?” She asked.

“Lizzie!” He exclaimed. “Harry's out of surgery. Mom says he's in the intensive care.”

“Oh wow,” she breathed. Wasn't intensive care bad? She felt her chest constrict. “I'm glad he's out of surgery, but is my dad there?”

“Yeah, hang on,” he said, pulling the phone away from his mouth and bellowing down the hall. “Uncle Sam, it's Lizzie!”

He came to the phone quickly. “Butterball, I'm sorry, it's been hectic here. I would have called you sooner. Harry's out of surgery. They say he'll make it. He's in intensive care though. Your aunt hasn't left the hospital,” he said, sounding worn down and distracted. She could hear her younger cousin Bobby shrieking about something in the background. It sounded like the two boys were arguing over the Nintendo. “Boys!” He yelled. “If you don't quit your hollering, I'll take it away altogether!”

“Aw dad,” she laughed, “that's so mean!”

He huffed an exasperated laugh back at her. “Well it's been like this all morning. And I'm dog tired after that drive.” But the important thing is he's going to be alright, okay Lizzie?” He said confidently. “Even your aunt is sure of it and you know how she worries.”

“Okay,” she said, relieved at her dad’s tone. “Love you, dad.”

“Love you too, honey. Stay out of trouble. I'll be back before you know it.”

She hung up the phone, feeling a lot happier. There was a lightness in her step as she waltzed around the kitchen, preparing for dinner.

* * *

 

Hours later a very frazzled, hot and confused Lizzie dashed about the kitchen, doing things she didn't quite understand with bacon and dusting the wrong things with flour, all the while trying to get the smoke alarm to stop squealing. She'd set it off when she burnt the onions.

She was carefully transferring the meat into a casserole dish when a powerful knock at the door startled her, causing her to drop the dish. It fell onto the tiled kitchen floor with a spectacular smash, stew splashing everywhere right across the whole floor and up onto the cupboards.

She stared in disbelief. _No, no please_ , she thought in horror. Hours of work down the drain.

It was a very unhappy Lizzie that met Raymond at the door, her lower lip trembling and tears swimming in her eyes. She stared at him for a millisecond. He’d brought her flowers. Great big sunflowers in a shock of black and yellow.

She began to cry in earnest.

“Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie,” he said in consternation, stepping forward into the house, casting the flowers on a hall table. “Darling, have you had bad news about Harry?” He folded her into his arms and she sobbed on his shoulder, her tears wetting his crisp, linen shirt.

“No,” she cried, her voice muffled with her face buried into his upper arm. “He’s-he’s out of surgery. He’s doing okay… but I dropped the beef bourguignon all over the floor and I was still hours away from having it ready anyway and I have nothing else to cook.” She sniffled into his shirt, wiping her eyes on his sleeve.

He was holding her close against him so she felt the strange tremor that went through him as soon as she’d spoken. She pulled away to look at his face, thinking that he must be laughing at her but his expression was a perfect picture of concern. She looked at him suspiciously. It had felt _very_ much like he’d swallowed a laugh.

“Sweetheart,” he said tenderly. “Why don't we go into the kitchen and let me help you fix things.” He led her further into the house, looking about him curiously. “Kitchen?” He said, reminding her that he hadn’t been to her house before.

She guided him down the hall and into the kitchen, wincing at the huge mess that she’d left. Miraculously, the casserole dish had survived in one piece. Raymond went to work quickly, picking up the fallen dish and placing it in the sink. She grabbed the mop behind the kitchen door and proceeded to mop the tiles while he wiped down the splashes on the cupboards.

He turned to her after they were done. “Now,” he said cheerfully, “Let's have a look in the fridge. and see what we can do.” And he did, he popped his head in the fridge, pulling out a block of cheddar and some bread and butter. “Grilled cheese sandwiches! Perfect,” he grinned at her. She couldn't help but smile back. He made everything seem not so bad. It was a trick he had.

She ducked back into the hall to retrieve the flowers he’d left there while he sliced cheese and assembled sandwiches to put under the grill. She placed the flowers in a vase on the kitchen table and pulled up a chair to watch him work, his large, tanned hands busily making their dinner. She loved his hands, loved to watch them, loved it when he touched her.

She loved everything about this man.

They ate in the kitchen. He seemed so at home seated at the old dining table, his shirt sleeves rolled up and a small piece of cheese stuck to the corner of his mouth.

“You have...you have a bit…” she motioned to the corner of her own mouth, giggling as he mimicked her movements in confusion.

“What is it? Oh! Cheese,” he laughed, swiping away the stray crumbs.

They were laughing about cheese. _How silly,_ she thought.

_But how wonderful._

* * *

 

“Ray,” she said softly a little while later, lying on top of him on the couch in the living room while he lazily kissed and fondled her. “Do you want...to see my bedroom?”

He drew his head back to get a better look at her. “Do you want to show me your bedroom?” He asked smoothly.

“Yes,” she said shyly, climbing off of him and taking his hand. “I do.”

She led him down the hallway, hampered somewhat by his arms around her waist and his insistent, teasing kisses at the back of her neck as he trailed right behind her. She opened her door, gesturing for him to come in and closed it after them. She wasn't sure why she closed it. It wasn't like they needed privacy, they were alone in the house. But she did it anyway.

He looked around her room, his hands creeping into his pockets, an uncomfortable expression on his face.

“What?” she asked, “what’s wrong?”

He shook his head slightly, smiling tightly. “Nothing,” he said, reaching for her and leading her over to sit on the bed. “So this is your bedroom,” he whispered, bringing her face closer to his gently, cradling her cheek in his hand.

She responded eagerly, bursting with impatience. He was here and he was all hers. Surging forward, she feathered his mouth with a teasing promise of a kiss, brushing her lips to his, running her hands up and down his chest. Her mouth was dry with excitement and her nipples ached, so tight and sensitive to the slightest touch.

He leaned into her, circling her waist with his hands, pulling her closer to him, aggressively taking her mouth and plundering it with his teeth and tongue. He had never been so rough with her, his hands were gripping her hips desperately, crushing her to him.

She wasn't sure if she could have marked the precise moment she became aware that something was wrong but she did notice that he seemed distracted by the soft toys on the shelf above her bed, his eyes open, straying toward them sporadically.

She reached for his zipper, but he intercepted her with a tight grip around her wrist. “No,” he said, sounding strangled. “Not...yet. Just let me…” He trailed off as he pushed her into the bed, covering her with his weight. She looked into his face and felt a bolt of alarm shoot through her. He was frozen on top of her, his eyes fluttered shut and his face twisted into a sickly rictus of what look to her to be pain.

“Raymond! Are you alright?” She asked in sudden fear.

He burrowed his head into her neck, his breathing against her skin harsh and labored.. “Lizzie,” he panted out. “Did you bring those...stuffed animals out for any particular reason or are they always there?”

She flushed with embarrassment. She should have put the damn things away. Removing them from her bed had clearly not been sufficient. But she’d _tried_ to make her room inviting for him. They were just soft toys after all.

“I didn’t...I don’t...I mean I…” She stuttered.

He sat up, pulling away from her completely. It was then that she noticed he was sweating quite a lot. He didn't usually sweat like this. She could see the stains under his arms and there were beads of moisture on his forehead. Was he in pain?

“Are you sick?” She ventured, sitting up as well, pulling a pillow into her arms and hugging it. “We have some Tylenol if you need it.”

He didn’t look at her, his eyes trained on the carpet, shoulders set stiffly. “Lizzie, I can’t. I should never have. If Sam were to find out...in his house...you’re his _daughter_ ,” he said disjointedly. “I wish to god…” he wrenched himself up from her bed, not looking at her still. “I need to go. I should have gone when…”

“No, don't go!” She cried. “What have I done? What has my dad got to do with it?”

He shook his head, throwing one last wild look around her bedroom. “I've been lying to myself. I think I'm beginning to see to what degree I've fooled myself...and I can't stay,” he said hopelessly, reaching for the door handle and pulling her door open.

With that, he fled, leaving her sitting trembling and shell shocked on her bed, still clutching at her pillow, her hands clasped hard together in front of her and her thumb rubbing desperately against her scar. How could such a promising night have turned so terribly wrong? She didn’t understand, didn’t know what she could have done differently.

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the tears back. She had never felt so alone.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There must be something in the water  
> And there must be something about your daughter  
> She said our love ain't nothing but a monster  
> Our love ain't nothing but a monster  
> With 2 heads  
> ~ "2 Heads, Coleman Hell"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The old, yellowing wall phone in the kitchen rang while she was stirring noodles at the stove. She jumped, dropping the wooden spoon into the saucepan. She fished it out gingerly, letting the phone ring a little longer, feeling an unaccountable reluctance to answer it. What if it was Raymond? She didn't know what to say. He hadn’t been waiting for her after school. He had made her feel so alone last night, just leaving her like he had. Why should she forgive that?

She didn't even want to think about what had happened. Ignoring the awful, slippery feeling in her stomach, she moved across the kitchen to pick up the phone.

“Scott residence,” she said stonily.

“Lizzie! Are you okay?”

“Dad! Yeah, I’m cool,” she said brightly, worried that she hadn’t been able to get herself together quickly enough to fool him.

And she hadn’t been.

“Butterball? Tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing dad, it’s fine. I just had a crap day at school,” she said quickly.

“Listen honey,” he said distractedly as the noise of her cousins horsing around in the background filtered through the phone “ I’ve got an update. Harry’s out of intensive care but it’s going to be a long road.  He’ll be in hospital for a while and your aunt June is...well, she’s your aunt June. Someone's gotta be around to see to the younger ones while she’s in the state she is. So what I was gonna say…is that I might need to be here more than just a couple days.”

The words hung in the air, buzzing around her. How long was more than a couple of days? She felt...she hated to think it, her dad was overprotective if anything...but she felt abandoned.

“Daddy,” she started to say, her voice choking a little with tears but she stopped at the sound of her front door creaking shut. She hadn’t locked up for the night yet. She tensed, her thoughts directed to the hallway, craning her neck to see if someone was in the house.

“Lizzie? Lizzie, talk to me. What’s going on?”

She came back to the conversation on the phone with a jolt. What had her dad said? “I’m...how long are you thinking?” She asked, stalling for time. Who was there? She could swear she heard a footfall on the carpet.

“I was thinking it could stretch to a week, maybe even two. But Lizzie, if you’re not okay by yourself, you can ask Alison to stay with you, as long as you both behave yourselves,” he said sternly.

She wasn't really listening anymore. Raymond had made his presence known, coming through from the hall, waiting in the entrance to the kitchen for her. Just standing there. Her fingers felt cold and numb, barely able to keep her grip on the handset. “Dad, can I call you back?”

She wasn’t expecting Raymond’s reaction to that. He took a step back, out into the hall again on hearing her words,  a look of consternation on his face.

“Why?” Her dad asked sharply. “Lizzie do you have a boy over? You don't sound like yourself.”

She snorted. “No dad, I don’t, I really don’t. I’m just in the kitchen cooking some noodles. I was going to do my homework and watch some TV before bed. That’s all I have planned for tonight,” she said.

“Alright,” he reluctantly accepted her word on it. He was her dad after all. She wouldn't be able to fool him completely. He knew something wasn't right.

“So, a week huh,” she asked weakly, playing for time. She really didn't want to talk to Raymond right now. She wanted to go to her bedroom, curl up with a pillow and cry. But he was still in the hall, waiting for her.

He hadn’t responded, his breathing was all she could hear on the phone. “Dad?”

“Hon, if you really need me to come home, I can work something out here,” he said, a thread of anxiety in his voice.

She almost said yes, looking across the kitchen at Raymond. He was looking right back at her, his expression now indiscernible. But she loved her older cousin. She didn’t always get along with aunt June but Harry had been her world ever since she was a little kid. She’d follow him around like a bad smell every Christmas and he was so patient with her, never expressing any of the annoyance he must have felt at having a little kid glued to his side for the holidays.

No, she wouldn't be a baby. Not when everyone needed to rally around her cousin. “I’ll be fine, dad,” she said, pouring confidence into her voice. “Take as much time as you need. Give Harry my love...I gotta go, I have noodles on the stove. Love you, bye,” she said in a rush, hanging up the phone.

She threw a quick glance at Raymond and turned to check on her noodles. The water in the saucepan had boiled away, leaving the noodles burnt on the stove top.

And suddenly burnt noodles were the worst thing in the world. _Why_ couldn't she do anything right. She was so _stupid._ She turned the heat off, tears pricking her eyes. She stood there at the stove struggling for control of the sobs that were trying to break free from her. She tensed as she heard his footsteps thud on the kitchen tiles.

He silently picked the saucepan and wooden spoon up, and opened the kitchen trash can, scraping the mess straight into it and moved over to the sink, turning the faucet on.

She turned around. “What are you doing?”

“Your washing up,” he responded cheerfully. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up and was scrubbing at the burnt bottom of the saucepan.

“I don’t want you to,” she whispered. She saw his shoulders tense a little but he didn't turn around, finishing the job thoroughly before straightening and placing the clean saucepan in the drying rack.

He looked at her then. She was startled to find that his eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot. She hadn’t seen him up close in the hall. He looked terrible.

“I’d like to explain,” he began, somberly, “I th-”

“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply. “My cousin is in hospital, my dad’s not coming home for ages and I just...want you to leave me alone. If I disgust you so mu-”

“That's not true,” he broke in quietly, “you are one of the very few pure and wonderful things in my life right now, Lizzie but surely you must see...” He took a sharp breath through his nose and continued, “surely you must see that I’m not good for you.”

She stared at him. She knew she was giving him her look. Her dad called it her bull in a china shop look. She didn't want to hear this though. He didn't make any sense.

He, for once, appeared uncomfortable at the lengthening silence. “What do you mean gone for ages? I understood that Sam was expected home tomorrow.”

“Well he’s not,” she said sullenly, turning away from him and marching out of the kitchen into the living room.

He followed her. “That’s not okay,” he said firmly, a new tone to his voice, a simmering anger she hadn’t heard before.

She sat on the sofa, pulling her legs up under her, curling around a cushion, refusing to look at him. She stared straight at the TV. It wasn’t on but who cared. If she didn't pay him any attention maybe he’d go away.

“Lizzie, did you hear me? You’re not staying by yourself here for some indeterminate period of time. If Sam isn't doing his job-”

She laughed loudly at that, harsh and mocking. “Doing his job? What’s he meant to be doing? Keeping you away?” She snorted.

His lips compressed grimly but he said nothing further immediately, just sitting down beside her, stiffly on the couch. She reached for the remote to the tv but he gripped her wrist, twisting her hand back away from it. She felt a thrill of fear. He'd never been rough with her so what was happening now? She suddenly felt vulnerable, alone in her house with him. She’d never seen him as anything but safe before. Even when he had taken her virginity. She trusted him implicitly. But last night...and now.

“I need you to listen to me,” he said, not letting go of her hand. “If your father thinks you are staying here by yourself, he is mistaken. I won't allow it.”

“You won't-” She stopped, the rest of her sentence forgotten as he took her wrist and kissed her scar. His lips were hot and slightly wet. He dragged them across her skin and she couldn't think a coherent thought any more.

His grip tightened around her wrist. “I shouldn't have done that,” he said ruefully. “I came to apologize for my conduct last night. And to say goodbye.”

Her breath hitched. She sat frozen, her arm extended toward him, her wrist still in his tight grip. She repeated the word in her head. Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye. It rolled around, sounding different each time in her thoughts. She swallowed, her throat was so dry she could barely get the words out. “You're not coming back?” She whispered.

He put her hand down, releasing her completely. Standing suddenly, he made his way to the bay window in the living room, twitching the curtains aside, taking a look out into the street.

“Have you done any Greek mythology?” He asked suddenly. “Never mind, they don't educate the way they did when I was a boy. They were still teaching the classics in my day.” He turned to look at her, his red rimmed eyes showing some of the playfulness that she was so used to. “Priapus was a minor fertility God. Now, I find that interesting because he was cursed by the gods with impotence for some infraction or another of his Olympic parent.” He laughed, a sound that made her jump.

Why was he telling her this? She actually did know this story. She read voraciously and she'd come across varied myths and legends, enough to know the talking points of most minor gods, Greek, Roman and Norse. “He had a big, um…” Well _she_ wasn't going to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” he grinned slyly at her. “Apparently very big. Not much use for it though, if you're impotent. I've wondered lately…I suppose you know then, that he pursued a nymph, a little forest girl. Well the tale is often told half a dozen different ways, but suffice to say, the gods took pity on her and turned her into a lotus. Bad luck for her, hey?” He was slowly circling the room now, examining photographs on the wall, bending over to look closely at a cabinet where her grandmother's crystal sat. She watched him from the corner of her eye.

“So what are you trying to say?” She asked brashly, “that you're a god or you're impotent?” She gulped as soon as she said it. That had been a little more daring than she usually was with him.

He chuckled, his laugh sounding softer. “I should have known you'd be familiar with your myths and legends.” He stood and turned around, his attention focused solely on her again. “I've wondered lately if we have the story wrong,” he said morosely, “perhaps he wasn't cursed with impotence for simply being the child of his mother. Perhaps the curse was enacted as punishment for his pursuit of the little nymph. Seems unfair, doesn't it? That the girl should pay and there are no consequences for the monstrous god.”

She wilted. Lots of words and really all he had to say was that he didn't want her. She made him...impotent. She looked at her hands in her lap, hunching her shoulders, wishing that he would just go so that this desperate lump in her chest could be eased with tears.

“Lizzie,” he said gently. “I've done a terrible, selfish thing in pursuing you and I came here to plead your forgiveness...if you can forgive. Last night...in your bedroom, I don't think I can hide it from myself anymore. I’m old enough to be your father and you...you’re just a baby, sweetheart. I’m not the knight in shining armor you seem to think I am,” he said. He moved towards her again, standing in front of her, reaching for her hands. She gave them to him, looking up at his darkened expression. “I intended to fly out tonight. But I...can't if Sam has left you here for...how long? I'm not leaving you by yourself. I'll sleep on the couch. We’ll work out a better arrangement in the morning but- oh, no, sweetheart, no,” he said in consternation as tears started to fall down her cheeks in earnest. He gathered her up, retreating to a far corner of the couch, holding her drooping body in his arms.

He held her close against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming wildly. He ran his hands comfortingly down her arm, murmuring soothing endearments into her ear. Her tears still fell, and she wasn't sure if they'd ever stop. She was so afraid of everything that was happening in her life just then. Harry was terribly injured, her dad was so far away and to top it off, she had driven away the only guy who truly understood her, who made her feel special and beautiful.

He was kissing her cheek, kissing her tears away. She couldn't stop crying though. “Harry,” she said thickly through her tears.

“Ssh, ssh baby, I know,” he said, kissing her forehead gently, his lips moving over her face. She felt his fingers threading through her hair and it was relaxing, his hands on her scalp, massaging and stroking. A tiny sigh escaped her lips. Could he just stay here? Just hold her forever like this? Everything was so wrong but he could make it right.

Lost in her feelings, she heard him as if he were speaking from a distance.“It's going to be okay.” His hand was tangled firmly in her hair now as he gently stroked. A dry sob or perhaps a moan erupted from his lips. “It’s okay, hush now, I’m not going after all,” he said soothingly. He moved a hand to cradle her cheek, looking tenderly down into her face.

“I want my dad,” she cried, fresh sobs wracking her.

“Darling it's okay, I'm here, I'm here,” he soothed, his face crumpling in sympathy. He gently lay her out on the couch, moving in behind her, cocooning her between himself and the backrest. He snuggled in closely, his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her tightly.

They lay there together for a long while, his voice surrounding her as she wept, murmuring comforting words, pleading with her not to cry. But she couldn't stop. She cried and cried until her chest heaved with exhaustion and her eyes were sore and swollen. Her nose felt blocked up and her head ached miserably. Eventually though, her tears dried and he was still there with her. She had barely heard his words but now she was listening.

“Lizzie,” he groaned, his arms cradling her still. “I can't leave you alone, I can't.” She reached a hand to hold his tightly. What did he mean?

He buried his face into the back of her neck, moving his lips across her skin. “You can’t imagine,” he said hoarsely, “what addiction is like. You’re so lovely and unsullied still. How can you possibly have any idea what it’s like to have a pill or a powder that calls to you. If you’re foolish enough to answer, _oh my god_ , it takes hold,” he said, squeezing her for emphasis. “And it never lets you go. You might throw your packet of oblivion away and find yourself hours later scrabbling through the trash like an animal, searching for something that you always knew you hadn't cast far enough away from you.” He sighed a shuddering breath, his exhalation hot against the back of her neck. “But you aren’t a drug,” he said in a pained whisper, “you’re the most precious thing in the world, do you know that?” He squeezed her again, and his hands began to drift delicately across the front of her body, caressing her. He was everywhere, his touch, his smell.  He gently pulled her to lie flat on the couch, laying himself over her and he held her close to him. She buried her head in his shoulder.

His lips moving to her jawline, kissing her throat, his hand cupped her breast, fingers rubbing and caressing her. She felt heat spread through her and she was still terribly sad but her chest was hot, so hot and he was kissing her mouth, his lips so soft, so warm. And he was here and so close and he did want her, she could feel his desire for her, pressing down on her, but she felt so vulnerable and fragile.

Her heartsickness warred with her desire to be comforted. And so she let him touch her intimately because it was better than being alone, being left with her fear and pain. After all, he was here, he wasn't going to leave her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you come in and put your bags down  
> I know there's something in the air  
> How can I do this to you right now  
> If you're over there when I need you here
> 
> My happiness is slowly creeping back  
> Now you're at home  
> If it ever starts sinking in  
> It must be when you pack up and go  
> ~ "My Happiness, Powderfinger"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I always have a plan, Lizzie,” he said softly, stroking her hair slowly as they lay together sprawled on the couch. He was lying back, his feet up, his head propped against the backrest of the couch and she lay half on top of him, her head resting on his chest, her body lying between his legs. “You must know that about me by now. I always have a plan and if it doesn’t come to fruition in precisely the way I desire it to, well...there’s always plan B. The whole alphabet in fact,” he said, kissing her hair. “There’s no need to worry, darling girl. We’ll just go to plan B, shall we?”

“What’s plan B?” She asked tremulously.

She couldn’t see him from her position in his arms, but she _heard_ the smile in his voice. “You can stay with me. You need... supervision. We can use the villa I hired just out of town.”

“The one with the Roman statues?” She asked eagerly. “And the downstairs cinema?”

“Yes and a swimming pool, too,” he chuckled. He sat up slightly, pulling her closer to him. “We’ll forward your home phone to your cell phone, he said decisively. “You’ll pack a bag tonight.”

“I’m hungry,” she said, suddenly realizing it and twisting around to look at him. The noodles had been cast in the trashcan hours ago. There were other things in the pantry and fridge but she felt so wrung out, cooking was beyond her at that moment.

He pursed his lips, his eyes traveling over her consideringly. “Is there any local take-out that delivers?” He inquired.

“Do you want to get Chinese?” She asked brightly.

He looked a little guilty. “We’ll get something for you but I’m afraid my diet has been of the liquid variety for the majority of the last twenty four hours.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I’m a little the worse for wear. Food isn’t on the agenda for me just now.”

She pulled her head back to get a better look at him. He _did_ look a bit...seedy, she admitted to herself. He hadn’t shaved and his eyes were still bloodshot. He looked like he hadn’t slept either, although he smelled clean and his suit was fresh and pressed.

He had put both of them through an awful time. And for what reason? So he could torture himself some more over their relationship? She couldn’t handle this anymore. She had to make it clear to him.

She took a breath, steeling herself.

“I’ll come with you,” she said, “on one condition.”

He looked surprised. “Oh, you’re coming with me,” he said emphatically, a smile playing across his lips. He clearly thought he was dealing with a cub, an obedient kid. She was going to to set him straight.

“I’m not going anywhere with you until we get some things sorted out,” she said, forcefully this time. He had to hear her, he had to understand that every time he did this, it wounded her and she couldn’t take it anymore.

He looked at her carefully, waiting to hear what she had to say.

“Ray, I need to know if something like last night could happen again,” she asked, biting her lip. Tears were welling up in her eyes just thinking of how he had left her all alone, running from her as though she were some repulsive thing.

His eyes softened and he cupped her cheek with his hand. He shook his head wordlessly, a pained look flitting across his face.

“No?” She asked. She had to be sure.

“No,” he said, bringing her face in with his hand for a kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke up in his arms on the couch. They'd fallen asleep after a dinner of honey chicken and fried rice. Despite his protestations, he'd had some food, laughing as she badgered him to eat, trying to feed him a forkful of food until he took a fork up himself.

His mouth tasted like honey afterwards.

He had stripped her slowly and made love to her on the living room floor. She had felt, oh like a great pain in her chest had been eased. The weight of rejection lifted layer by layer as he removed her clothes and his, each article of clothing slowly taken off as though he were savoring a decadent dessert. When he took her bra off, his hands sought her breasts, smoothing his thumbs over her nipples, gently squeezing and caressing.

He'd unzipped her jeans with a smouldering look into her eyes and slipped her panties down her legs easily, his fingers sliding between her thighs, opening her up to him. She shuddered now in remembered delight as she recalled how she'd gasped, lifting her hips toward him. He'd smiled his slow, secret smile and she unfurled for him like a flower reaching for the sun, sighing as he bent his head between her legs, his mouth and tongue on her, drawing even longer sighs from her as his tongue did things to her that she'd never felt before. He'd hooked her legs over his shoulders, giving himself greater access to her as he tongued her, sucking her into his mouth, working her over carefully like an instrument. He'd made her beg for release, her inarticulate little cries had been what he was waiting for and he'd redoubled his efforts, flicking his tongue against her in _just_ the right way and she'd come to pieces in his mouth, her body shuddering with the strains of her climax.

He nudged her now. “Up, off,” he instructed, his voice thick with weariness. “My arm is asleep.”

She moved off of him, an anxious, hovering feeling settling in her stomach. They’d had sex last night on the floor after he’d gone down on her. He wouldn’t do that if he was going to try and leave her again would he?

He hadn’t sounded affectionate this morning, she thought worriedly as she got ready for school. He was seated in the living room making some calls on his cell phone while she hurriedly ate a bowl of cereal in the kitchen and threw her clothes on.

She peeked around the corner into the living room, her mouth full of toothpaste, just checking he was still there. He was, his cell phone to his ear, talking quietly.

“I’ll need the house for a few more weeks,” he said, listening to the reply on the other end of the phone. “Yes, I’m planning on staying there this time...with a guest. I’ll need a maid service,” he paused again. “You can organize delivery of that today, if possible,” he glanced up at her, beckoning her into the room. She slowly entered, feeling a little silly with her mouth full of foam and her toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. “That will be all,” he said briefly, snapping his phone shut and smiling widely at her.

She awkwardly pointed to her mouth and gurgled. He laughed. “Go and finish up, I’ll take you to school.”

Scurrying back into the bathroom, she felt a warm golden glow sitting deep in her chest. He’d smiled at her, laughed with her. It was going to be okay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been multiple suitcases in the end, not just a bag. He’d met her after school with an assortment of empty suitcases and taken her home to pack, helping her forward the home phone to her new cell.

She was so nervous, almost disbelieving of her own daring. She was going to be _living_ with him, in a house, not a hotel.

He hauled her suitcases out from the car, leading the way up the the front door. This time, there was no butler to meet them.

“Is it just us?” she asked timidly.

He glanced at her. “Yes, although we have a daily maid service.” He unlocked the door, leading the way, carrying her suitcases.

It was all she could do not to stare. She’d already been here but this was her home for at least a week. She needed to get used to the grandeur or she was going to appear an idiot to him. She trailed behind him as he made his way through the house and up the stairs to the second floor. She observed two bedrooms side by side as she stepped from the landing. She hesitated, waiting for her cue from Raymond.

“Do you want your own room?” He asked bluntly.

She was shaken by his directness, feeling her knees tremble slightly, unable to push aside the fretful tightness in her belly. What did he want? She would happily prefer whatever he wanted. Did he want his own space? Why couldn't he _tell_ her what he wanted.

“I don’t...what...do you want?” She asked, unable to look him directly in the eyes.

He put her suitcases down on the ground in front of the master bedroom. Without hesitation, he tipped her chin up with a finger so that she was forced to give him eye contact. He looked back at her evenly, a slight smile hovering about his mouth. “I want you in my arms every minute of every day. Does that answer your question?”

Her heart did the tiniest little jump in her chest and her knees were weak again but for a different reason this time. She stepped into his embrace, her eyes still fixed on his. She felt words burbling to her lips and she knew what she was going to say, managing to clamp her mouth fiercely shut.

She'd almost said it. That she loved him. But she had a very good idea from their talk on the plane coming home from New York that she ought not to bring that word up with him. _Call it a hunch,_ she thought unhappily.

“Cat got your tongue?” He inquired slyly. And if they were talking of cats, he was grinning like the fabled Cheshire cat. He hadn't realized what she'd been about to say. She ached to tell him but was far too fearful to dare.

She just smiled back at him. “Can we have the same room then?”

“Of course,” he said, sounding satisfied. He dropped a kiss on her forehead and ushered her into the master bedroom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I have a chef flying in from San Francisco,” he said offhandedly, as though it were completely normal to be flying people in from all over the country to do some basic activities of living for them.

“I can cook,” she volunteered. “You don't need to do that.”

“So can I, in fact I'll be cooking for you tonight,” he said, his eyes brightening. “But for the most part, having someone cook and clean for you is too convenient to pass up. The chef I've chosen is world famous. You'll like them,” he promised.

“Did you say before that you were getting a maid?” She asked.

He grinned sheepishly. “I outsource where I can. It doesn't make sense to spend my time cooking and cleaning when I could be spending time with you,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her into his embrace.

“This is going to be wonderful, just what we need,” he said happily. “I have you all to myself.”

She lay her head gently on his chest, humming like a satisfied kitten. Nothing could really go wrong while she had Raymond with her.

  
He was right. This was going to be wonderful.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sucker love, a box I choose  
> No other box I choose to use  
> Another love I would abuse  
> No circumstances could excuse
> 
> In the shape of things to come  
> Too much poison come undone  
> Cuz there's nothing else to do  
> Every me and every you  
> ~ "Every You, Every Me, Placebo"

* * *

 

She hadn't properly stayed the night with him since New York, her first time.  He _had_ made it special. He had been filled with remorse at the way things had gone but she had felt desired, treasured, loved. Certainly a weekend to remember.

The idea of a whole week of him all to herself was exciting. She would fall asleep in his arms. He would make love to her every night and treat her like a woman. His lover, she thought with a shiver of pleasure.

She stood in the middle of the bathroom, toothbrush in hand. It was insane, this place. She opened a drawer and rifled through it while she brushed her teeth. Everything was luxurious and so spacious, all white marble and chrome. There was a wall-to-wall shower at one end and a hot tub at another. She wondered if they'd have time for a soak in the tub during the week. She licked her lips delicately at the thought. A week in the same house with Raymond. So much to explore. She was nervous as well though. It was like playing house with your first boyfriend years before you would normally do it, she reflected. And he had so much experience, what if she were to leave at the end of this week having made a complete shambles of it? There was so much she wasn’t sure of, was agonizing over.

Her bags had been particularly hard to pack. All of her pajamas were childish and embarrassing. She'd thrown a pair away, her threadbare Winnie the Pooh pajamas that she'd had for years. They were getting far too small anyway. She had one pair that were vaguely acceptable but he'd already seen them in New York. So she'd ducked out of her last class of the day to go shopping. She’d bought a few plain tank tops and some light cotton pajama pants. She'd considered buying lingerie but had been far too shy to dare.

There was a knock at the door just as she finished brushing her teeth. She hadn't locked the door. Why was he knocking? "Come in," she called out politely.

He entered the bathroom, padding over to her in his own pajamas and bare feet.

"Hello there," he said, looking very pleased to see her in her thin cotton pajamas, drinking her in greedily. His hands hovered around her shoulders like he was afraid to touch her, like she might break if he allowed himself free rein. She spun around to face him.

“You can touch me if you like,” she said deliberately, knowing it would dredge up memories of the night she’d first confessed her crush and kissed him.

And it did. His expression went from tender lover to stalking hunter in a millisecond. He smiled, reaching an arm out and curling it around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “Can I now,” he purred. “Where do you want me to touch you, Lizzie?” He ran a hand over her breast, “here? Or...here?” He traced a finger down her stomach, sliding past the waistband of her pyjama pants, cupping her between her legs.

She trembled. Sometimes it frightened her, the way he seemed to know her body better than she did. She pushed herself onto his hand, whimpering as he slipped a finger inside of her. He still had an arm tightly around her waist and he was crushing her to his chest, she could feel his breathing, fast and shallow.

She clutched his shirt desperately, rubbing her cheek into his chest. “Yes, there.”

“Come to bed,” he whispered. “I want you in bed.”

She moaned as he removed his hand from her, gripping his forearms, her legs wavering. He bent his head to kiss her, asking again, “come to bed now, darling girl.”

She followed him into the bedroom on unsteady feet, unsure of where her sudden nerves were coming from. It wasn't their first time together. He had seen her naked, he had touched her intimately with his hands and mouth, but she felt there was so much that they hadn't done, that he hadn't asked of her, hadn't even mentioned existed. She wasn't stupid, she knew the kinds of things adults did.

The maid had turned the bedsheets down. He had a  _ maid _ . And was getting a chef. She was a little disappointed by that. Despite her woeful attempts in the kitchen to date, she had found the idea of playing at keeping house with Raymond a little thrilling. But he'd seemed so excited about his fancy chef and he'd made a good point about outsourcing. They'd have as much time as possible to spend with each other.

She dove under the covers, unaccountably shy. She didn't look at him, just laid on her back stiffly, staring straight up at the ceiling. She could practically feel puzzlement rolling off of him.

“Lizzie, are you alright?” He asked, propping himself up on his elbow, looking at her steadily in the light of the bedside lamp.

She felt a flush creep across her cheeks and neck. She didn't know how to make this seem normal. She was jumping out of her skin and had looked forward to making love each night, but wasn't sure how to initiate, wasn't sure if he wanted her to...well to…

“I'm not a child, you know,” she said quietly, her eyes still on the ceiling.

He said nothing, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. Her stomach tightened. She hated discussing their age difference and they rarely did it, which she was grateful for. But she wanted to know that he was treating her as an equal. 

She turned her head to look at him. He was staring at her, a mildly exasperated expression on his face.

“I just mean, if there are things that you want to do,” she began confusedly, “you should ask me. I mean, you do those things...for me.”

His expression was lightening. He pounced on her. “Are you saying,” he said in an excruciatingly precise voice, “that you would like to perform oral sex?”

“Ahhh!” She exclaimed, covering her eyes. “You always use the most embarrassing words for it.” She peeked at him from between her fingers.

He chuckled but he had an uncomfortable look on his face. “Lizzie, if you can't even name the things we do, perhaps we shouldn't be doing them?”

She removed her hands from her eyes. “No, okay, do you want to commit oral sex,” she said in a rush. Her eyes widened in horror, as she realised her mistake. “I meant have!” She practically shouted at him. “Do you want to have oral sex!?”

* * *

 

When he was done rolling around on the bed laughing at her, he spent a good hour soothing her dented pride, coaxing her out from under the covers that she’d retreated to.

He played dirty, tickling her until she wept and the room rang with her desperate giggles and she just couldn't hide under the blanket anymore. Then he kissed her and didn’t let up touching her for even a minute until she writhed on the bed, forgetful of her recent embarrassment, kissing him back with equal fervour. 

“Lizzie,” he said in between his kisses. “I would like that very much.” He licked his lips and she knew exactly what he meant.

She rose from the bed, her tank top and long cotton pants had already been cast off during their tumble. She stood, breathless, flushed and naked as he placed a pillow on the carpet and sat on the edge of the bed. He slid his sleep shorts off and parted his legs. She just continued to stand there in front of him, her eyes averted. She felt tense and excited and shy. She was tired of feeling shy with him. She made herself look deliberately into his eyes.

He smiled, reaching for her. “You alright Lizzie?”

“I’m good,” she said, taking his hand and kneeling between his legs, still looking him in the eye. The look on his face as she knelt level with him, her mouth inches from his penis, was incredibly intense, his pupils dilated and eyes wide. She let go of his hand and tentatively wrapped hers around his length.

He closed his eyes, making a noise in his throat, expelling air through his nose loudly. Had she hurt him? She paused, her hand still wrapped around him, waiting for some signal. He opened his eyes again, looking down on her.

He waited patiently, not pushing her, not asking for anything, just waiting to see what she would do. She licked her lips and his cheek twitched, his face tightening slightly as he watched her.

Here goes, she thought, opening her lips and taking him into her mouth. She had felt him in her hand before, that was nothing new. He liked to take her small hand and wrap it around himself before they made love, his own bigger hand covering hers, showing her his readiness.

But this was different. He was hot and smooth and veiny in her mouth, and he tasted like nothing at all. She placed her hands on the tops of his thighs, steadying herself and she started moving her mouth along his length.

He didn’t move but she watched his hands tighten around the bed sheets from the corner of her eye, gripping fiercely. Her lips curved into a smile around him. He liked it, he liked what she was doing. She felt a small, satisfied glow in her chest. 

He threw his shoulders back a little, his breathing was heavy and rasping in the quietness of the room. “Lizzie...please,” he panted, “your tongue...just there.”

She obliged. She wasn’t quite sure  _ where  _ he wanted her tongue but she used her instincts, licking the underside of him, her tongue swirling around him. 

He reached a hand out and placed it gently at the back of her head, pushing her slightly toward him. She gagged a little, her throat tightening in panic. He moved his hand from her head as though he’d been scalded. “Sorry, sorry,” he murmured breathlessly, allowing her to go at her own pace again.

And she had him in her mouth for the longest time. He made appreciative little noises now and again but he didn't seem to be ready to climax. She wondered if she was doing it right. She drew her head back, holding him lightly in her hand. “What am I doing wrong?” She asked plaintively.

He gave her a pained, affectionate look. “Nothing, baby. Come here, though,” he said, reaching for both hands.

She stood and he pulled her on top of him, moving back into the centre of the bed. “How do you feel,” he asked in a low voice, “about being on top?”

She was so petite and light and his hands were so strong, all it took was a firm grip at her hip bones and she was lifted and positioned, hovering above him. 

Her eyes darted around the room, her arms reaching out to him for balance. If he loosened his firm grip on her hips, she’d topple. “I’m not sure,” she said waveringly.

“Hmmm, okay, we’ll save that one for later,” he said, rolling her under him.

They lay in the bed together later, his arm wrapped snugly around her, spooning her in the middle of the bed. It was dark and late but she couldn't shut her brain down. “Ray?” She whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Mmm?” He said sleepily.

“You know I started this assignment in English today and it's complicated and messy but I've been thinking about what it means to be good. What do you think?”

He was silent for a beat and then, “go to sleep Lizzie, you've got school in the morning,” he said, pulling her tighter against him.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your heart's a mess  
> You won't admit to it  
> It makes no sense  
> But I'm desperate to connect  
> And you, you can't live like this  
> ~ "Gotye - Hearts A Mess"

* * *

 

Alison gripped her pen nervously, twirling it in her hand. “Don't you think we should do some work on this after school tomorrow? It's not like we have a lot of time.”

Lizzie grimaced. She wouldn't take back the chance to live with Raymond. Not for anything. But it did have its drawbacks.

She still had to keep him a secret. And that meant no after school visits from her friends. 

“I don't have time sorry,” he said reluctantly. I have tennis after school tomorrow.

Well that was at least true. 

“What about the day after then? C’mon, we’ve got a week to get this right. If we don't make more time, we can't expect to get the top grade.”

This was impossible.  _ Why _ couldn't she just tell Alison. It was really unfair.

“Alison,” she began hesitantly. “If I were to tell you a secret...a really bad one about me, do you think you could keep it under wraps? Like not tell anyone even if it seemed like you should?”

Her friend looked troubled. “What kind of secret? You're not...I mean,” she stumbled over her words, looking increasingly upset, “Lizzie, you're not  _ stealing _ again are you?

“Wow...no of course not.” Lizzie frowned. That hadn't been what she'd expected her friend to think. But then it was hard to remember sometimes that not everyone realised her whole life had changed dramatically. No one could take a look at her and know that she was no longer a virgin, that she had a lover. She felt as though people must see, how could they not know? She saw everything differently now.

She would wander the halls of her school, curious at what Raymond might think of the campus. Would he like her teachers? Would he find them impossibly dull and thick?

Alison leaned forward, resting her chin between her hands. “So what's the big secret then?”

Lizzie frowned. Alison still hadn't outright promised she'd keep it a secret. She wasn't about to take any risks. “Nothing, I suppose,” she said listlessly.

“Liz, it's not nothing. What's up? You've been funny for a while.”

Had she? That wasn't welcome news. 

She leaned forward suddenly so that her face was inches from Alison’s across the table. “What would you do if you had a secret and you wanted to tell me but it involves someone else, not just you, so you can't tell anyone but it drives you crazy?” She blurted out in a rush.

Her friend was looking alarmed. That wasn't good. She grabbed Alison's wrist reassuringly. “I mean, I'm fine. I just...hypothetically, that's all.”

_ Well that's probably the lamest excuse I've ever come up with, _ she thought in silent mortification as he friend gave her a sour look.

“Why would you hint that you have a secret, act like it's huge and awful and then refuse to tell me? Liz, I'm getting tired of this weird new you. I wish you'd tell me what's wrong.”

She closed her eyes briefly, acknowledging the fairness of her friends words, even if they rankled. “I just can't yet. But I will, I promise. I just need to talk to the other person involved.”

Alison sighed. “Well I don't know what to tell you. I'm here if you want to talk, but right now, we've got to get to math,” she said, standing and piling her books back into her bag.

 

* * *

 

Raymond wasn't beside the car when she got out of school. 

The car was. His driver was there too. Stuart got out of the car slowly, giving her a friendly wave. “Miss Elizabeth, Raymond sent me to take you home. He's been caught up in business but his plane has arrived just now.

She came to a standstill. He'd never sent the driver to pick her up before. But Stuart  _ was _ familiar and it made sense that Ray was busy at work during the day. It wasn't like the man waited for school to be out before he lived his life.

Smiling at the older man, she made a request. “Can I sit up front with you?”

He looked startled. “Well, I don't suppose there's any harm In that,” he said doubtfully, closing the back passenger door and slowly making his way around the front passenger door, opening it for her.

It didn't feel right, sitting in the backseat without Raymond. She was glad Stuart had let her come up front.

“Do you go with him on his business trips?” She asked curiously.

He gave her a wary glance as he started the car, his thick, white mustache twitching before he responded. “At times I do. Lately I've been stationed here.”

She laughed. “Stationed. It makes you sound like you're in the army or something.”

“Well,” he reflected, “it often feels like it. Mister...Raymond likes military level discipline in his employees, even his driver.” He glanced at her again, a lightness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. “You've certainly given him the runaround though. All his discipline seems to have gone out the window.” He chuckled, “good for you girly, good for you.”

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She knew that Stuart hadn't seen them in any situation that could indicate the nature of their relationship. The privacy screen of the car was a life saver. So what was he suggesting?

“Has...has he told you much about me?” She felt her insides tighten as she waited for his answer.

“Well no, but we’ve assumed...I mean, Newton seems to know about you...more than he's saying anyway. So I've assumed you're his daughter.” 

He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke so he didn't see her electrified glance at him. Raymond had a daughter? He had never said anything about her.

Was he married? He could be married and just amusing himself. She felt her chest getting heavy and tight, aching with every breath. And who was Newton anyway?

She had the distinct feeling that if she asked about this, Stuart wouldn't answer.

She'd let him believe she was Raymond's daughter. It was probably safer than if they discovered the truth.

But he had a  _ daughter _ .

He hadn't told her. Once again she was overcome with how little she knew about him. She was angry. He was so  _ good _ at making her seem unreasonable or selfish when she pushed this issue but something had to give.

Even if she had to go back home early to let him know how serious she was.

She thanked Stuart for the ride home as she got out of the car and walked inside.

The door wasn't locked.

“Ray?”

“Lizzie!” He called out to her from the kitchen. “In here, sweetheart.”

She followed his voice and found him seated at the kitchen table scanning through paperwork. He had a black, utilitarian apron on. There was a warmth to the kitchen that wasn't in the rest of the house and the delicious smell of roasting meat emanated from the oven.

She sniffed appreciatively. “I thought you were getting a chef.”

He smiled, clearly pleased she'd noticed he was cooking for her. “It didn't seem like you were enthusiastic about having too many people in the house that you didn't know, so I cancelled him.” He jerked his chin toward the oven. “You can help me. I'll teach you.”

“Okay,” she smiled back at him, tossing her school bag onto an empty chair and collapsing onto another chair beside him. “Ray,” she began, hating that she was starting the conversation this way, after he'd been so nice to her, but it had to be discussed. “Do you have children?”

He froze midway through turning a page of a ledger he was perusing. He didn't look at her, his eyes scanning the half turned page. “Who told you that, Lizzie?” He asked in a quiet drawl.

“Just...Stuart thinks  _ I’m _ your daughter. And he'd have no reason to believe that unless you actually have a daughter, would he?”

He finished turning the page, licking a finger and flicking through the remainder of the ledger. “I'll need to have a conversation with Stuart then. Thank you for telling me.”

Her temper flared. She stood abruptly, pacing the kitchen floor, all jittery with nerves. “No, you don't get to just ignore me. Do you have children Ray? Are you...are you  _ married _ ?”

He looked up at her then. Her sharp intake of breath as she caught sight of his expression was clearly audible, even over the hum of the fan forced oven. He looked so stern and terrible.

“None living,” he said in a croaky voice.

She stopped her pacing. “None li-oh... _ oh.” _ She was horrified _. _ How brutal must she seem? He was so patient with her, just meeting her gaze now, blinking at her, his features less sharp, waiting with sad resignation for her barrage of questions.

With the kind instincts of her little heart, she crossed the room and put her arms around him, crushing him to her. “I'm so sorry,” she murmured, feeling her stomach dropping to her boots. He'd lost a child. And she had brought it up like a clumsy idiot. “I'm sorry Raymond, I'm so sorry.”

She didn't know what else to say. How were you supposed to address something like this with someone you loved?

He knew just what to do though. He always did. He must be so grieved that she had spoken to him this way and yet he pushed his chair back and pulled her into his arms, onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

“I'm sorry,” she said again, resting her forehead against his. She cupped his cheek with a hand, stroking his face with her thumb. 

“Come on,” he said softly, “I'll show you how to make potato gratin. You can help me peel the potatoes.”

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I've never met a man  
> Who's made me feel quite so secure  
> He's not like all them other boys  
> They're all so dumb and immature
> 
> There's just one thing  
> That's getting in the way  
> When we go up to bed  
> You're just no good  
> It's such a shame
> 
> I look into your eyes  
> I want to get to know you  
> And then you make this noise  
> And it's apparent it's all over  
> ~ "Not Fair, Lily Allen"

* * *

 

“Elizabeth, that's not within the guidelines of what you were asked to write.”

Her teacher stood above her desk, a frown creasing her forehead. She'd just thrown her paper in front of her. It had a C minus marked in red pen.

“No, it’s not, but it still covers what you wanted me to write. All I did was add an opinion.”

“I didn't ask for your opinion, I asked you to demonstrate your knowledge and understanding of the constitution, not critique it. You're in high school, not college. If you can't learn to follow instructions, you'll continue to receive these grades in this class.”

She moved on from Lizzie's desk, handing out the rest of the graded papers.

Her blood boiled. She couldn't afford this grade. She'd only just fixed her failing grades recently. She needed every A she could get.

When the bell rang, she waited until everyone had left, sitting at her desk, watching the other students scramble for the door.

Her teacher looked up from the papers on her own desk at the front of the room. “Class is finished, Elizabeth. Go home,” she said crisply.

Lizzie rose slowly from her chair. “Can I talk to you about this grade? I just really need a better one than this.”

“Then maybe next time you'll be more observant of the rules. You're a smart kid, Elizabeth. I know you’re aware that this wasn't what I asked for.”

“You don't want to be challenged then,” she said sullenly. “I've made some excellent arguments in that paper, I know I did.”

Her teacher raised an eyebrow. “You did. In fact, I agree with your paper. It was very well written, and if I'd asked you for an essay delineating the faults in the constitution and how you thought they could be surmounted, I would have given you an A. But I didn't ask for that and I expect you to follow instructions to the letter next time.”

Lizzie bit the inside of her cheek, hauling her school bag roughly over one shoulder and glaring at her teacher.

“Right then,” she said briefly, walking toward the door.

“Elizabeth, why don't you keep a journal?”

She paused in the doorway of her classroom, halfway into the hall already. Dropping her bag off of her shoulder again, she turned back into the room. “What do you mean?”

“You're a talented writer, if you can keep a journal for me of your daily observations, I'll revisit your grade. You'll need to keep it up every day for a month though. Think you can do that?”

She felt resentment burning in her chest. A stupid journal? Was she making fun of her? She wasn't the kind of person to go writing dear diary in pink ink into some dumb, fake locked book.

She made no effort to conceal the sour feeling she felt for her teacher just then. “Yeah, if it'll get me the grade I'll do it,” she said, turning on her heel and leaving the classroom.

 

* * *

 

“I'm not going back there!” Lizzie yelled, slamming the front door and storming through the house.

She found him seated at the desk in his study, his eyes wide in alarm at her raised voice. “Not going back where?”

“That school! I'm so sick and tired of being censored and treated like I'm stupid!” She threw her hands up, her face dark with anger.

The only indication that he had any opinion on the matter was a momentary flicker of an eyelid. “Which teacher? The Sociology one?”

“Yes! She's a bitch.”

“Lizzie...what would your dad say, to hear you talk about your teachers that way?” He asked uneasily.

She hoisted herself up to sit on his desk, swinging her legs back and forth furiously. “I don't care, I'm going to quit school and open my own business. I'll be a private investigator.”

His eyebrows went sky high at that. “You want to be a PI? Lousy hours, lousy pay until you can afford to open up that business. It won't happen right away. You'd need to establish yourself first, build clientele through word of mouth and put up with the dross of the world, cheating spouses, controlling parents, old men spying on their sugar ba-”

He stopped suddenly, his face going blank. He didn't return to that train of thought, focusing his attention back onto a photo album he'd been looking at before she swept in.

She craned her neck to take a look at the album. “Hey! That's mine, where did you get that?”

She snatched at it but he was too quick, with lightning reflexes, he scooped the album up, holding it out of reach. “I picked it up from your house of course, while you were packing.”

“You can't nick things from my house,” she said indignantly.

He sighed mournfully, placing the album behind his back, out of her reach. “Well, that's a shame. I let you rummage with your sticky paws through my things all the time.”

She gave him a flat eyed stare. “That's not fair. It was one time and it's not the same thing. Why do you want my family's photo album anyway?”

“Perhaps I want to see pictures of you growing up? And it was more than one time, if I remember correctly.”

“Why would you want my old baby pictures? I've got heaps of photos from this year if you're looking for something to frame or put in your wallet,” she said, a little shyly.

He laughed gently. “I'll have a look at those too. I've been thinking, I have a friend who might like to photograph you. He's in New York next month, there's an exhibition at the Guggenheim and some of his work is being exhibited. Would you like to come with me to New York again? He's very well regarded. Somewhat polarizing in the artistic community but I've always felt his work has merit.”

New York again! She stopped swinging her legs. “Yeah! That'd be amazing. Can we go for a whole weekend? Can we go to the exhibition? I'm dying to go to the Guggenheim.”

“We can.” He looked very satisfied with her response. He loved surprising her with things like this. She felt so spoilt. He was wonderful to her.

He pushed the photo album to the side and looked over to her, his lips forming a small half smile. Standing slowly, he stretched like a cat in the afternoon sun. “Look at you sitting there,” he said, his voice all low and teasing, “with that short little skirt on.”

“It's my tennis skirt, they're all short,” she said, watching as he came to stand in front of her.

Her nudged her legs apart, standing between them and looked her in the eye, a blaze of intensity in his face.

“That's perfect then, suits my purposes _very_ _well_.” He sank to his knees in front of her. “It doesn't sound like you've had a very good day at _all_ , darling girl, and I know just...the thing,” he said, sliding his hands along her thighs, flipping her skirt up into her lap. “Lift,” he commanded, as he slipped fingers underneath the elastic of her panties.

She lifted her bottom slightly off of the table and he pulled her panties down her legs to her ankles. His face was so close to her, she could feel his breath on her thigh.

She squirmed. She wanted his mouth on her _now_.

He played with her, ghosting his lips along her thighs, dropping a kiss on her knee, his tongue darting out to taste her.

“Sweet and salty,” he murmured as he made his way back up her thigh. He kissed her again, this time directly on her, his tongue probing her folds, his mouth sucking at her clit.

She lifted herself off of the desk again, pushing against his mouth. “That feels, oh god…” She groaned.

He chuckled, the low hum of his laugh only added to the sensation building in her. “Please, please, please,” she chanted in time to her little thrusts into his mouth. He was panting with his efforts, his breath hot on her sensitive skin.

She was so close, so close. He was nipping at her, once, twice, his teeth scraping at her. It was just shy of painful but it was _so_ good. She ached for him, wanted him to fill her now.

“Ray,” she said, her fingers scrabbling in his hair. “I want you to...to..” She struggled with the words, would probably always struggle with them, but she was desperate for him, wanted him inside of her.

He slowed, raising his head to look at her as she cradled his face with her hands. He gave her a smug smile. “Yes baby? What do you want me to do?”

She squirmed, her bare bottom sliding across the smooth surface of the desk. “I want to...I want you…”

“What do you want me to do, Lizzie? You have to tell me.”

She drooped, her eyes averted. “I can't,” she whispered.

He gripped her hips, steadying himself as he rose from his kneeling position on the carpet. “Yes you can. Tell me what you want,” he said in a soft, encouraging voice.

He tugged at her heart, she felt as though his patience with her knew no bounds. She just wished she wasn't so shy with him when it came to sex.

“Make love to me,” she said. Simple really. Why didn't the words come to her easily? Why did she feel a hot flush at her neck as she spoke?

“That's what I want to hear,” he said, unzipping his pants and letting them fall to the floor along with his boxer shorts. He took firm hold of her ass with both hands and pulled her forward to the edge of the desk. “Should I bend you over the desk? Hmm? Or take you here, right where you are? Tell me.” He leaned into her, his voice a low growl in her ear.

“Here.”

“Just here? Like this?” He asked as he rubbed the tip of his penis against her opening.

“Yes!” She cried out, throwing her arms around his neck, drawing him closer as he buried himself inside of her.

She closed her eyes, her mouth forming a soundless, little O. She heard his own sharp intake of breath as he moved, his hips grinding against her, his hands still gripping her ass, pulling her into him as he thrust deeply.

She felt a tingle of delight. He'd transferred a hand to her clit and was massaging her in rhythm with his long, slow strokes. His thumb teased her, gentle one moment, flicking at her sensitive bundle of nerves the next.

She threw her head back and whimpered as he latched onto her throat, his mouth sucking at her skin. “Ah Ray,” she choked out desperately.

“Come on Lizzie,” he grated out, still stroking her with his thumb. “Come on baby girl.”

It was too much, he felt so good, inside of her, touching her just where she needed him to and she was on the cusp of pleasure but she couldn't let go.

“Now, Lizzie,” he growled, pinching her nipple through her bra and taking her mouth fiercely with his.

But she couldn't. She was so close, almost there but something stopped her from going over like she had on his hand the first time he'd slipped his fingers into her.

He held himself back for a few moments more, but his groans were getting more desperate, his thrusts sloppy and wild. “Lizzie...I need...come on baby,” he grunted, still rubbing her with his thumb, his other arm around her as she wiggled against him.

He slowed suddenly, his eyes squeezing shut as he thrust again into her, hard and deep, his breath ragged and heavy.

He came inside of her with a final hard thrust and a groan, his eyes springing wide open as she felt him pulsing. It was the strangest feeling, the hot spurting of a man coming inside of her and his maintaining a steady gaze into her eyes as it happened.

She fell forward, trembling and exhausted into his arms. He chuckled, holding her to him, stroking her hair. “You’re a stubborn little thing. We’re going to need to talk about your orgasms, sweetheart.”

  
  
  
  



	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favorite plum  
> hangs so far from me  
> See how it sleeps  
> and hear how it calls to me  
> See how the flesh  
> presses the skin,  
> It must be bursting  
> with secrets within,  
> I've seen the rest, yes  
> and that is the one for me  
> ~ "My Favorite Plum, Suzanne Vega"

* * *

 

Lizzie stiffened in Raymond's arms. “What do you mean we need to talk about my orgasms?”

He cupped her cheek with his hand, planting an affectionate kiss on her forehead. “I've noticed that you aren't climaxing, Lizzie. Almost not at all. Never when I'm inside you, at any rate.”

Her shoulders slumped as she leaned against him dejectedly. “So just something else I'm doing wrong then.”

His hand tightened against her face, gripping her jaw and forcing her to look up at him. “No, that's not what I meant,” he said, alarm coloring his voice. “You're learning your own body and to be perfectly frank with you, so am I. But if you don't know what pleases you, it makes it difficult for me to know, sweetheart.” He kissed her gently again, this time on her lips, drawing her bottom lip out between his teeth and nipping at her teasingly.

She pulled back slightly. “I don't know what you want from me.”

“How about for a start, we get ourselves...cleaned up and make some dinner, hmm?”

It was his usual tactic. Misdirection and distraction. She let him lead her into the bathroom and into a hot shower. She needed it after her tennis lesson and then after...well.

“Ray,” she said dreamily as he soaped her up in the shower, teasing her a little with his mouth and hands. “Do you think I'm bad at following instructions?”

He stilled, his soapy hand at her breast. “You do tend to march to the beat of your own drum,” he said carefully. “Is this about your teacher again?”

“She wants me to keep a journal for a month to bring my grade up.”

Searching his face, she found herself wanting him desperately to back her up, to be on her side, but the frown creasing his forehead wasn't promising. She scowled. Why did he feel the need to patronize her all the time? If she'd come to her friends with this complaint, she'd have had unstinting support and her teacher would have been roundly and hotly abused in the privacy of their little group. Couldn't he just be on her side for once?

“A journal is a great thing, I journal myself from time to time. Of course I destroy my scribblings after I write them,” he joked.

_What an odd thing to do_ , she thought. “Why would you bother journaling if you're only going to destroy it?”

Reaching behind her, he turned the water off, and draped her in a large, comfy towel hanging off of the rack beside the shower. “I don't particularly like my thoughts available for all and sundry to examine. But it helps me see things more clearly. Writing things out can untangle complicated situations. It can help you find patterns in your problems. It's a bit of a magic trick. I encourage you to try it.”

She wasn't convinced. “You know she wants to see the journal. She's going to grade it. There's a lot I won't be able to write.”

Pausing in the act of toweling himself off, he glanced up, surprise on his face. “Well _that_ defeats the purpose. I'm beginning to see why you aren't thrilled.”

“ _Thank_ you,” she huffed.

Patting her on the bottom, he led the way out of the bathroom. “Dinner and then some discussion...with a side helping of fun,” he said with a smirk.

 

* * *

 

Ray had let her help him make tortellini from scratch, deliciously drizzled with sage and butter sauce.

She placed both of their plates onto the table carefully, ready to ask him again as soon as he sat down.

“So what else do you want to say about orgasms?” She asked baldly, watching him take the first bite of his meal.

He closed his eyes, savoring the taste. “Mmmph, Lizzie, this is divine. We should cook together more often. We make a great team,” he said with annoying enthusiasm.

She watched him dab delicately at the corner of his mouth with a folded white napkin.

She almost growled in frustration. “Why did you tell me you wanted to talk about it and then not talk about it?”

Pointing his fork at her own dish, he gave her an innocently disappointed look. “Don't you want to at least try it? You did a good job with it, you know.”

Fine. He wasn't going to talk to her about it. She picked up her fork, shoveling pasta into her mouth aggressively and chewing with her mouth open. He hated that. She grinned at his noticeable wince, pasta almost spilling out of her mouth.

“Wha id oo do ooday?” She asked gleefully as he stared at her with distaste.

“Alright, Lizzie, you've made your point. Eat your food, that's all I ask, and have a civilized conversation with me at the dinner table. Then, as soon as we’re finished, we’ll go up to the bedroom and have a talk, okay?”

She swallowed. “Alright, but you do that a lot.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek, his tongue agitating inside his mouth. “I'm a stickler for good manners Lizzie. Haven't I always been a gentleman in your company? I simply ask that you behave like a lady in mine,” he said crisply.

She flushed, sudden and unwelcome shame washing over her. “Sorry,” she muttered, spooning a small forkful of pasta into her mouth this time.

He smiled warmly at her, the transgression already forgotten. “I've been meaning to tell you,” he said, “I've spoken to an archaeologist friend of mine who has some very interesting items taken from the recent discovery of an Egyptian tomb and he's planning on visiting the country in the next few days. I have business with him so he’ll be in town. Did you want to see what he has to show me when he arrives? I understand there's an emerald necklace that my esteemed friend thinks will please me very much...a charming piece that would look lovely around your neck, Lizzie,” he said smoothly, reaching to trace her collarbone with a finger.

Her eyes brightened and she leaned into him, forgetting her annoyance. “What, a real one? What kind of business do you have with an archaeologist? How does he get one of those into the country anyway? I thought Egypt was pretty funny about any more of their stuff being dug up and pillaged.”

Laughing, he withdraw his hand. “Corruption can be found anywhere, in any country. My friend finds a buyer with enough money to pay the bribe and a handsome cut for himself, and all is well. Truly, it's better than your garden variety looters getting their grubby hands on the artifacts. At least this way, an expert is handling each item and knows its true worth.”

The familiar feeling of her forehead wrinkling in worried thought overtook her. He wanted to give her stolen gems. Emeralds that had probably been around the neck of an Egyptian queen several thousand years ago. Who was she to accept a gift like that? More importantly, who was he to contribute to the corruption he was talking about?

“Wouldn't you get in trouble?” She asked cautiously. “I mean, if you were caught bribing people.”

Something dark and uncomfortable swam through his eyes at her words. She almost drew away from him, he seemed alien to her for just a moment. Certainly not himself at any rate.

Clearing his throat he nodded pleasantly at her, the moment had passed. “You certainly make a valid point. I won't get the necklace for you then. After all, I can think of half a dozen different ways to adorn that pretty neck.”

She flushed, suddenly very uncertain and uncomfortable. She felt that she'd missed out on some deeper meaning that may have been hinted at between them.

“I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to-”

His airy laugh interrupted her. “You have nothing to be sorry for, darling girl. After all, we’re going to New York soon enough. You won't be able to stop me from spoiling you then.”

Smiling tentatively, she reached a hand out to cover his. He turned his palm, holding her hand, giving it a brief squeeze.

She was so in love with him, her heart twisted agonizingly as she smiled across the table.

So entirely in love.

 

* * *

 

 

“Sit on the bed, darling,” he said, his voice a warm caress.

He had left the dishes for the maid, swept her upstairs and instructed her to get ready for bed. He'd been waiting for her in their bedroom.

She wanted to obey him, to please him when he spoke to her in that tone. She sat as he asked, cross legged on their bed, her satin nightie rustling pleasantly against her skin as she settled herself into place.

Standing above her, knees pressed against the side of the bed, he reached for her breasts, cupping first one, then the other gently. “Look at you,” he murmured, staring at them as a hand slipped under the the smooth fabric, his thumb rubbing over a sensitive nipple. She arched into him, lifting her chest toward him. He felt so good, he made her tingle and burn all at once.

“Can you put your fingers inside me?” She blurted before her head cleared of the haze of lust and before she felt shame at such a brazen request.

He smiled, almost a smirk. He liked the power he held over her. It so obviously delighted him. “I want you to be patient. We’re going to go slow tonight. Everything I do to you and everything I ask you to do to yourself, I want you to remember. I want you to take note of what feels good, what feels amazing and what feels so breathtaking that you want it to never stop, alright Lizzie?”

Her mouth hung slightly open. His voice was intense, made her quiver with longing. There was something so seductive, almost wolfish in the way he spoke, the way he leaned over her and touched her like she belonged to him.

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, looking up at him, her timidity falling away at his smoldering gaze.

Giving her a satisfied nod, he removed his hand from her breast. She almost groaned at the loss, leaning into him, longing for his smooth touch again. But he stepped back, seating himself on an armchair that he'd moved to the side of the bed. He stared at her for a long moment until she felt her cheeks grow warm. What did he want? Was she supposed to do something now? She shifted, as though to move from the bed but he flung an arm out.

“Take your nightie off, please,” he said, a command, not a request.

She didn't hesitate, her arms crossed over each other as she pulled the slip of cloth over her head and cast it onto the end of the bed.

She was completely naked. She didn't wear panties to bed. He liked the access that provided him. And so now she was bare to him. She shivered in anticipation of she knew not what.

“May I take my clothes off, Lizzie?” He asked solemnly, as though they were taking part in a ritual but he was the only one who knew the steps.

She wasn't sure what to say. Since when did he ask her if he could take his clothes off? He just did, each time neatly folding his pants and his jacket and tie over a chair or on the dresser and putting on his pajamas. Unless of course he wanted her quick and hard. Then he'd take his clothes off and neatly fold them but he wouldn't bother with pajamas, only leaping into bed and rolling her onto her stomach, urgent words of worship on his lips. He would beg entrance to her but he never really stopped to hear her answer.

It was just as well she was as eager for him as he was for her, really.

“You can...of course you can. Why are you asking me? What's going on tonight, Ray?”

Not answering straight away, he stood, unbuttoning his shirt silently and loosening his belt, dropping his pants. He stood before her then, completely naked. Her eyes instinctively traveled to his penis. He was hard and intrusively erect, standing up between them, impossible to ignore, a reminder of his arousal and desire for her.

Heavily lidded eyes looked at her, drinking her in, smiling at her, if eyes could be said to smile. “I want you to understand that pleasure isn't a one way street. You have every right to expect to climax during lovemaking, Lizzie. I'm curious...and a little concerned that you don't, despite my efforts to bring you over during sexual intercourse.” He never took his eyes off of her as he spoke, the smile still shining in their feline, green depths.

He wasn't angry or upset, or even disappointed. So what was this?

“I want you to come during sex,” he repeated, simplifying things just a little.

At first she couldn't get a word out, her mouth was so dry. She worked her throat convulsively though, scrabbling for words. “I don't know how,” she admitted defeatedly.

“That's why we’re going to play a game,” he said happily. “We’re going to start with some mutual masturbation.”

“What!” She didn't hesitate to make her outrage known. She ignored the sick and twisted thrill she felt as his words registered.

“Don't you masturbate, Lizzie?”

“Do you enjoy embarrassing me like this?” She spat, a little angrily. “Yes, I do...do that but I don't...talk about it.”

She didn't feel like her chest could hold any more strongly opposing feelings. She felt intense arousal at his words, warring with a miserable horror and fury that he was making her talk about something so intimate. Did people talk like this? Was this normal?

“Lizzie,” he soothed, “please believe I don't want to embarrass you. I want to please you. We need to have a frank discussion though. This is a journey, sweetheart. An exploration of your own body first and foremost. It could be a little confronting, yes,” he inclined his head in understanding of her predicament, “but it'll be worth it. I'm very confident of that.”

She didn't say anything, which he took as permission to continue. “Can you show me how you masturbate?” He asked in a gentle voice. He wasn't being gross or weird, to her surprise. His voice was warm and dispassionate at the same time. Something that she didn't even think was possible, but it was just the right way to ask her.

She shifted on the bed, lying back a little and drawing her legs up so that her knees were almost level with her ears. She widened her legs, opening herself up so that he could see everything.

Nervously, almost in disbelief at her own daring, she reached between her legs to stroke a finger through her folds. She couldn't help a tiny indrawn breath. Everything felt particularly sensitive. She wiggled her finger across her clit, shivering as she repeated the motion.

She stole a look at him, leaning forward on the chair, relaxed and flushed, his own hand was wrapped around his shaft, and his breathing was coming quicker and quicker, his hand stroking himself as he stared at her unabashedly. She looked away, feeling her own face becoming unbearably hot.  
  
He presented his open palm in front of her face. "Spit," he said. She looked at him, confused. "In your hand?"

He quirked an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. "Yes, in my hand, baby."  
  
She swallowed. Her throat was dry again. She worked her tongue in her mouth for some saliva, anything. She spat a globule into his palm. He looked at her with approval. "Very good" he said, sliding his wet palm along his length. She stared in fascination, forgetting to continue her own ministrations as he pumped his hand along himself, slow and long strokes, his mouth parted, a look of sweet concentration on his face.

“Lizzie, keep going,” he panted. He hadn't stopped watching her.

She returned to her own pleasure, her fingers rubbing lightly over her clitoris, dipping into herself and spreading her wetness around.

He slowed his own activity, looking at her with avid interest. “Can I come and have a look at what you're doing?”

“Sure...okay,” she couldn't help feeling intense discomfort at the idea, but denying him never really occurred to her at this point.

He ceased playing with himself and moved onto the bed, gently nudging her legs even further apart, his head close up to her. She could feel his cheek brushing the inside of her leg.

“Go on,” he breathed. She trembled, his mouth was so close to her that she felt his hot breath on her with every word he spoke.

She resumed sliding her finger along her folds, brushing her clit and pressing lightly.

“Do you know what it is that you're touching right now, Lizzie?” He murmured. “What would you call this?” He asked, swiping his index finger against her.

She bucked upwards, a bolt of sweetness lancing through her as he touched her. Her breathing was becoming shallow. “My clit,” she squeaked.

He chuckled. “That's your clitoral hood, and this…” He said as he stroked her with his thumb to her small moan of approval, “is your clitoris.”

He continued to rub her clitoris lightly. His thumb was directly on her and she found the stimulation to be too much. “Stop,” she gasped, “I can't-I can’t.”

“It's alright, it's alright,” he soothed, moving his hand over her mound, massaging her firmly with his palm.

She sighed. “That feels good.”

“You like that? What if I do this?” He asked her, moving to massage and rub at her folds once more.

“Yes, yes, I like that,” she said unsteadily.

“I'm touching your outer labia, sweetheart...and this...is your inner labia,” he said as he gently pinched and rolled her sensitive flesh between his fingers.

She was pressing her pelvis up into him in time with his strokes, she could feel the blood surging, rushing to her private parts. She felt all swollen and achy in her, what had he said? Yes, her labia felt heavy, sensitive to the slightest touch, she was just dying for him to make love to her, to enter her, push himself inside of her.

“Harder...please,” she whimpered.

Bearing down on her firmly, his palms pressed into her mound as though he knew so well exactly what he was doing to her body. His thumbs were...his _thumbs_. And he had an adorable little half smile on his face as he gazed down at her, a slight sheen of sweat coating his forehead.

“Did you know,” he said, his voice molten, “that in Victorian times, there was an odd little thing just _tearing_ through the female population called hysteria.” His smile was widening now. “It seems the only...treatment was a...pelvic massage.”

Ears pricked, hanging onto his voice, she let her eyes flutter close. His velvety tones were enough to stir a sweetness in her belly but god, his _fingers_ , he was walking them across her flesh, and it was like honey in her mouth, so sweet, so good.

His fingers drifted down towards her heated center and without warning he drove his index finger inside of her.

She cried out, a desperate sound, as he thrust in and out of her.

“Of course,” he said silkily, his voice only betraying a slight tremor, “we know now that there's no such thing as hysteria. Just the body’s need for...a rollicking good orgasm.”

“Ray,” she wailed.

He stopped suddenly, his finger still sheathed inside of her.

She brought her legs together, her knees crashing in against each other, shuddering and trembling. It was amazing, how quickly he could bring out a sweat in her. Damp hair curled around her forehead, her face was slick with it. There was a distinctive musk that she smelt, unable to tell if it was coming from him, her, or both of them, she inhaled delicately.

She reached out to him, her hand stroking his forearm. “Please don't stop,” she coaxed.

“That was good then? You want more?”

She nodded. She hadn't orgasmed and her mind shied away from that. All that mattered was that he wanted her and the things he did with her felt so _good_.

This time he added his ring finger, spearing into her and crooking both fingers like a fish hook.

She turned her head into the blankets, stifling a moan.

“Lizzie, tell me if this feels better than…” he straightened his fingers, spreading them wide apart inside of her, “this,” he finished, with a few thrusts.

“The first,” she choked out.

He crooked his fingers again, pistoning in and out of her. Desire sizzled along her nerve endings, she felt flushed from head to toe, her muscles were so tight, even her nipples were rock hard.

“You're too tense,” he murmured, withdrawing his fingers. “Turn over, onto your belly.”

Unhesitatingly, she rolled herself to the right, stretching out on her stomach, opening her legs wide hopefully.

But he didn't take her. For a moment, there was silence, only their heavy breathing could be heard.

Then he moved across the bed, to her other side and put both hands on the globes of her ass. She bucked her hips up at him, inviting him to do more, but he left his hands there, warming her skin. Slowly, he worked his hands across her ass cheeks, thumbs digging deeply into her flesh.

He hummed appreciatively. “God, I love your skin, so creamy and soft, like fresh churned butter,” he said, bending over her and biting her left ass cheek, sucking on her bare bottom, “you're a delectable little treat, Lizzie,” his voice drifted over her, dark and sensual, like dripping treacle.

His hands roved her legs, strong fingers digging into her muscles, releasing tension she hadn't truly felt until then.

She still glowed with excited pleasure but his touch had introduced a beautiful languor to her limbs, her shoulders relaxed as he worked his way up and down her body.

“I want you to touch yourself, in this position,” he instructed, gently pulling an arm that was flung above her head to her side.

“Okay,” she craned her neck to get a look at him. What was he doing? It appeared that he was sitting back on his haunches, waiting for her to touch herself.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Admittedly, I _do_ have all night, but you have school tomorrow.”

She laughed, tucking her arm under herself and between her legs, wiggling happily as she felt him swing a leg over her, and mount himself on her upper legs, his body stretched out on top of hers. He leaned over to growl into her ear, “can you rub yourself for me, Lizzie. I want to hear that little squeal of yours.”

Slowly and gently, she pushed a finger through her folds, once, twice, a third time. She increased the pressure just as she felt him line himself up behind her. She felt his penis nudging at her opening.

“Elizabeth, are you ready for me?” He asked.

She barely heard him, her lips curling as she quickened the pace of her fingers, deliberately teasing herself. She squirmed, feeling him press harder against her, one hand guiding himself, the other at the small of her back, stroking her skin lightly with his thumb.

Tenderly, he sought his pleasure inside of her, sinking himself deeply within her, easing himself with a sigh of contentment.

He moved so slow, great, lazy strokes, an arm pushing itself under hers, seeking out the fingers that stroked herself, taking their place. He rocked himself deeply in and out of her while he rubbed his fingertips against her swollen, pink bud.

She was impossibly sensitive. She squeaked, a long, high pitched moan erupted from her lips. She thrashed at his touch, rolling desperately beneath him but he pinned her with his weight, laughing, his voice gentle, breathless, “come now Lizzie, for me now, baby.”

And her whole body spasmed under him, leaving her scrambling for sound, for words, pleasure like the little aftershocks of an earthquake tossing her body about. She twitched involuntarily, the strength of her climax leaving her sweat drenched, muscles quivering. She felt as weak as a day old kitten.

Her limbs loosened, her stomach muscles relaxed, a pleasant throbbing existed between her legs, a well used tingle of satisfaction.

He wasn't done though, increasing his own pace, still stroking and pinching her folds, he gently sank his teeth into the crook of her neck, sucking hungrily on her flesh, his breath coming raggedly from his nostrils, hot and fierce on her skin.

“Ah Lizzie,” he gasped, arching his back, becoming still, buried deep within her, releasing himself.

He grew slack against her, kissing her hair, nibbling at an earlobe as he relaxed, languorous and sated, still on top of her.

She wiggled her hips, shifting out from underneath him. She had never felt so close to him, so exhausted, a deep, biding contentment sitting within her chest.

The best part, she thought sleepily, even as she nestled into him, was falling asleep together, his arms around her. Wet spots and numb limbs aside, she could easily get used to this.

  
  
  
  
  



	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can dance, go and carry on  
> Till the night is gone and it's time to go  
> If he asks if you're all alone  
> Can he walk you home? You must tell him, "No"  
> ~ "Save the Last Dance for Me, The Drifters"

“So my dad called last night,” said Lizzie, scooping up a spoonful of mac and cheese in the noisy cafeteria. She spoke in an undertone to Alison. “My cousin’s doing okay. He’ll be coming home soon.” She grimaced as she swallowed her food. “Aunt June is stressing dad out big time. She's coming home next week but she's probably going to need a friend to stay with her to drop my little cousins off to school and pick them up and stuff. Harry can't do anything. He’ll be in rehab for ages.”

Alison frowned in sympathy. “That sucks. I remember Harry from that time he came to stay years ago. He was nice to us. Have they heard anything more about the drunk driver?”

Lizzie nodded her head, scowling in remembrance. “Dad said he surrendered himself to a police station. He’s out on bail though,” she said, grinding her teeth as she recounted the conversation she'd had with her dad. “That man just _hit_ Harry and almost _killed_ him and he gets released onto the street.” She shrugged her shoulders stiffly. “I'm so mad, Alison, I swear to god.”

She'd cried furious tears on the phone last night. Raymond had been there, hovering around, trying not to intrude but clearly distressed at her sobs. He'd been so wonderful to her afterwards, making her a bowl of popcorn and sitting her on the couch to watch late night TV until she fell asleep in his arms. She felt bad, heaping her problems on him like that, but he hadn't given her a hint of feeling overwhelmed by her at all. That was the nice thing about having an older boyfriend, she thought warmly. Older men were more mature.

“Hey, do you want to come and stay at my place then? Mom was saying last night that might be better for you with all the stress your family’s been going through.”

Dropping her spoon with a dull thud onto her tray, Lizzie sought quickly for words that wouldn't be lies. “Um, I'm kinda liking having this time to just..chill, you know? I mean, maybe? Let me ask my dad.”

Alison shot her an odd look just as Rob bounded over to the table, tray in hand. He thumped it down with boyish vigor. “Hey girls,” he said, grinning at Lizzie and planting an enthusiastic kiss on Alison's cheek. “So, the carnival next weekend huh?”

Lizzie felt her heart sink. She hadn't mentioned it to Raymond.

“So, you gonna win me something from a booth?” Alison grinned winningly at Rob as he sat down next to her.

“Course,” he boasted, wolfing down his lunch with enough speed for both girls to raise their eyebrows.

Lizzie tossed back the last of her soda, standing up abruptly, “I'm gonna go to the library. I've got homework to finish before sociology. See you guys at math?”

“Yeah sure,” said Alison. “You're still coming to the carnival right?”

“Yeah of course.”

She walked away with a sick feeling. She was going on what was kind of a double date...while she was currently living with a guy who was essentially her boyfriend.

She felt gross and horrible and all tangled up inside.

It was time to talk to Raymond.

 

* * *

 

_Dear diary. Or journal. Whatever._

_Today I had a conversation with my best friend that made me feel like a sneak. I want to tell her that I'm seeing someone but I'm seeing an older guy and he thinks that my friends wouldn't understand. I wish he'd listen to me when I tell him that they'd be cool. Because now I'm stuck going on some weird kind of double date with my best friend’s boyfriend’s friend._

_Confusing enough?_

_To top it off, my dad is in another state, helping my aunt with my cousins while my older cousin Harry is in hospital. It'll be months before he starts learning to walk again. I feel guilty that my cousin is suffering while I'm having fun with my boyfriend._

_And that's another thing. He doesn't like me calling him my boyfriend. I mean I kind of understand. There's an age gap there, which makes it different from the rest. But I think I'm falling in love with him. I've been in love with him for ages really. He's smart and deep and poetic and I feel like he loves me even though he doesn't say it. I wish he would though. There's so much in my life that feels wrong except for him. He's opened my eyes to what the world will be like after school. Music, art, politics, he wants to show me it all and loves that I want to learn._

Lizzie put her pen down, feeling subdued after the first few paragraphs of her journal. She wasn't sure if it was a good idea to be so forthright about what was happening for her but if she didn't have an outlet somehow, she was going to burst. Fiddling idly with her watch, she let her gaze wander over the shelves in the library. Would she and Raymond have a future? When she went to college would he still be coming to town to see her? She imagined him taking her to see the Chicago Symphony Orchestra if she made it to Northwestern University as she hoped to. Would he come and see her all the time like he did now? Would he move to Chicago? What if she didn't get accepted at Northwestern and was stuck in Nebraska?

She sighed, looking back down at her notebook. There was no use thinking about the future when it was so far away. She had enough problems with the here and now. Picking up her pen, she continued with her journal.

_I feel like I've outgrown school. My boyfriend treats me like an adult and it's jarring to be treated like a kid here. If I could skip to college now, I would. I shouldn't be so unhappy and dissatisfied, I suppose, but I am. My grades are back on track, my tennis game is improving every week and I have friends. Not a whole lot of friends, but good ones. So I have to ask myself, why do I feel so on edge?_

_I do have some things to look forward to. I'm going away for a weekend and I'm so excited about that. I'll be going to museums and art galleries, the kind of life that you just don't find in Nebraska. Sometimes I think about going to college in New York because my boyfriend is there so often. I never would have considered going to college so far from my dad before but it would be different if I had someone there with me, someone who is sophisticated and intelligent, who treats me like I'm special._

_Really, I should be happy. I have everything I could possibly want._

_I am happy. Of course I am. I think it's just my cousin that has me so on edge._

Just then, the bell rang, signaling the end of her lunch break. She had study hall next and would probably use the opportunity to finish her journal entry. She had intended to write more about international politics and the infuriating policies her country had adopted in Eastern Europe. Instead, she'd found herself wanting to write about her own situation. She felt vaguely uneasy as she swept up her things, stuffing them into her bag. There was a chance her teacher might be upset about the mention of an older boyfriend. But really, she hadn't said  _how_ old he was.

Study hall came and went so quickly and she was dismayed to find that she spent most of it daydreaming about Raymond. Every time she sat down with a spare moment those days, she thought of him. He was an enthusiastic and patient lover, teaching her the earthy pleasures of sex and the more subtle ways of pleasing and being pleased. It was irresistibly tempting, to dwell on him for long stretches of time, a pleasant reminder of just how lucky she was.

That very morning he had woken her up before the room had begun to even lighten, his mouth teasing a nipple and his hands between her legs. He'd made love to her slowly, taking his time warming her up until she was gasping with need.

“I could drown in you,” he'd said to her, gazing at her afterwards with heavy lids, an elbow propping him up and a hand absently stroking her abdomen. “Be careful, darling girl, I may never give you up.”

She'd giggled, pleased at his words. “Who says I want you to give me up?”

A flash of pain had flared in his expression at that moment. But he buried his face between her breasts and she could no longer see him to work out what he was thinking.

“When I walked into that diner, I never thought-” he'd stopped abruptly, his face still obscured.

“Never thought what?”

“Never thought I'd meet such a marvelous young woman,” he'd said softly.

But she didn't think it had been what he'd meant to say.

The rest of the day was so hectic that she had to force herself to concentrate. She handed an assignment in for biology and had her math test handed back to her with an A.

“Not bad,” she said, flashing a grin at Alison who gave her a thumbs up in return.

At the end of the school day, she hadn't been expecting Raymond to meet her. His driver had started meeting her at the school gate without him while he conducted business from home. Once or twice he'd left at 5am to fly out before she'd even woken up properly, leaving her with a quick peck on the lips and returning with gifts late at night. The other night he'd brought home a massive bouquet of colorful flowers, their full, velvety heads just beautiful sitting in a white vase on the dining room table.

“In the old Victorian language of flowers,” he'd said, “different flowers used to tell a message. Pink roses speak of admiration.” And he'd kissed her playfully on the nose. “You are certainly admired by _me_.”

It was the new normal to be met by his driver, go to his house to meet him there or wait for him to show up in the late evening with butterflies in her stomach.

Today though, to her surprise and pleasure, he was in the car.

She scooted across, leaning in to throw her arms around him and give him a shy kiss on the lips. “I didn't expect you here.”

“Well, I thought you might like to go out to dinner tonight. It's also been some time since we went for a walk down at the creek. How would you like to go there for a bit before we go home to dress for dinner?”

Was he being nice because of the phone call with her dad last night? Either way, he was being so thoughtful. She didn't usually get to go out with him and loved it when she could. “That sounds perfect,” she said, snuggling into his side.

It wasn't long before they were arm in arm, meandering down the path toward the creek while Stuart waited patiently in the car.

“Do you think he wonders about us?” She asked, throwing a wary look back at the car, silently parked on the side of the road.

“He's paid too well to wonder. We've had a chat since you indicated to me that he might be gossiping.”

A bolt of regret shot through her. “I didn't mean to get him in trouble you know! I just...it's hard because sometimes our relationship feels so unclear to me.” She swallowed quickly, surprised and impressed that she'd managed to articulate how she was feeling so well. Surely he'd talk to her now about their status? If she could just tell her friends about him, she would be able to go out with her friends without things turning into awkward double dates.

She stole a quick look up at him and as soon as she did, she wished she hadn't. His face was wooden, almost mask like, giving nothing away. It always gave her the jitters to see him pull away from her. It was hard, keeping a man like him interested. She always felt conscious of her attempts to appear fun, sophisticated and witty. Getting him to laugh at a joke was an achievement, impressing him with her opinions gave her a fierce and warm pride. But when he became distant, she always felt like she could lose him at any moment. What was going on behind that face? Was he bored with her?

He stopped and she almost cannoned into him along the path. Looking down on her with searching eyes, he said something that chased away the doubts that crept upon her daily.

“Never let this be unclear, Elizabeth,” he said, his voice an octave lower than it usually was, taking her by her hands and rubbing his thumbs across her palms gently, “you are my second chance-at everything. I know that our secret is hard for you to keep, but you are...the sweetest beam of light in my world” he said, swallowing hard, his voice growing hoarse. He cleared his throat, continuing with his love making, leaving her spellbound, looking adoringly into his eyes. “What you have given me is stronger than any secret. You've brought sunshine into my life again when I thought that there was nothing but darkness to be had-from anybody. You remind me that for every person out there with the basest of intentions, there is a Lizzie. That's far more powerful than secrets, darling girl.”

“I won't,” she said breathlessly, shaking her head, feeling a swell of pleasure in her breast. “I won't let it be unclear...and thank-thank you for telling me that.”

Long lashed eyes softened and crinkled as he smiled at her, causing her heart to swell even further, to the point where she felt that it almost hurt. He turned from her, keeping a hand in his grasp, continuing along the pathway. It wasn't long before they reached their love seat. Without warning, he gripped her by the waist and swung her up onto the seat so that she was standing on it, above him.

“What are you doing?” She giggled, pulling down the shirt that had ridden up as he held her. She wasn't used to looking down at him and noticed with interest that his hair was thinning a little on top. He kept it very well, always trimmed precisely but he didn't style his hair like some of the teenage boys at school who would use dish washing liquid to spike up their frosted tips. Lizzie smiled at the thought and ran a hand through his hair. Who cared if his hair was thinning? Sophistication dripped off him. It made him seem deliciously mature, enticingly seasoned.

With a smirk, he gripped the bottom of her shirt and pushed his hands underneath it, against her bare skin. “What does it look like?” He asked, taking a step closer so that his nose and lips were a whisper away from her skin.

“You're teasing me,” she said, eyeing the mischievous expression blossoming across his face.

A thrill lanced through her as he bent his head and trailed wet lips down her stomach. A coil of nervous energy unfurled and tickled her, making it hard to move even a muscle. She was perfectly still as he became more engrossed in kissing her stomach, his tongue darting into her belly button, his saliva trailing a path across her skin. It seemed as though he wasn't at all concerned about doing this in the open and despite the fact that this was a secluded spot and they'd never met anyone else along this walk, she turned her head self consciously to check the trees behind them.

“Sit down Lizzie,” he said, ceasing his attentions.

Her eyes whirled back to scan his. It didn't seem like he was displeased so she crouched down from her perch on the seat, clambering to sit as he relaxed in the seat himself, putting an arm across the seat back and curling it around her shoulder.

His words shortly before had emboldened her. He loved her, she _knew_ it. He'd practically said it...without saying it. If he loved her and still needed their secret kept then surely he would understand about the double date at the carnival with her friends...and Matt.

“Ray,” she began tentatively, her eyes wandering over the water in the creek. It had been drying up slowly and the stream was reduced almost to a steady trickle. Her heart beat in her ears as the words came together in her head. She just had to _say_ them.

“Yes?” He inquired archly after a moment or two of waiting.

“I promised Alison and Rob I'd go with them to the carnival in town next weekend and Rob’s friend Matt was gonna take us,” she said in a rush. It had meant to come out lightly, what she'd wanted to do is mention it casually as if it was of no real importance. Just something she was going to do with friends on a weekend. But as soon as she said it, she knew she had just caused a problem.

She'd sounded frightened and guilty.

Now, he was twisted around to look at her and she could feel his leg muscles tensing against her own leg.

“I see,” was all he said.

“I'm not- I mean, it's not anything serious. Just a couple of friends going out. Rob doesn't drive yet see, and Matt has a car-”

“I suppose Matt is the basketball fellow then?”

“Y-yes,” Liz replied, unsure if he was annoyed or taking it in his stride. He relaxed his knee, giving her a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. The gesture calmed her, sent her completely off guard. He was okay, of course he was okay. “I knew I was being silly,” she said breathlessly. “I mean I know Matt kinda considers it a date but it's a group thing so he can't really have any expectations of me.”

Raymond stiffened again. “Expectations of you,” he echoed softly, “what kind of expectations were you thinking of, my darling girl?” He gripped her shoulder tightly, no longer a squeeze or a caress. “Hmmm?”

“No, I don't mean _expectations_ ,” she hastened to clarify, “it's not 1950, you know. I mean I can go on a double date and know that guys don't like, expect you to have sex with them just because you agreed to a date and anyway-”

“Perhaps I haven't made _my_ expectations clear,” he said, grimly standing from his position on the bench and looking down on her severely. “I have not and do not intend to sleep with anyone else while we have...what we have.” He stood in front of her stiffly. “I expect you to extend me the same courtesy.”

“I don’t! I haven't,” she said indignantly, rising from the bench to stand before him. “It’s just us four hanging out. It’s not even a real date. I just don't want to be left out,” she cried.

His eyes softened. “I don't mind you spending time with your friends, Lizzie,” he said, reaching for her, taking her hands in his. “But I don't want some teenage boy pawing at what’s mine.” He shook her slightly. “So you go on this _double date_ then and tell me all about it when you get back. I’ll be _very_ interested in the details,” he said warningly.

It had only been a slight shake, his fingers closing over her bare arms for just a moment but she had experienced a small thrill of fear as he did it, leaving her feeling trembly and strangely tearful. She looked down, allowing her hair to sweep across her face and obscure her features. With a few rapid, tight eye squeezes, she had her feelings under control and could look up at him again, smiling brightly.

“You know I'd much rather go with you. I'll miss you,” she half teased him.

“You'd better,” he said, throwing an arm around her waist to steer them back towards the path. “Now, I've made a reservation at a sashimi place out of town. How much homework do you have? I hope we have time for a leisurely dinner.”

The flush of excitement at an opportunity to to go on a real ‘date’ with him took over. She'd take what she could get and make it work. Things would be so much easier when she was at college. She'd be undeniably a woman and he could have no fears of hurting either of their reputations by dating her.

They just had to make it through until then.

 


	24. Chapter 24

The rest of the week went by so swiftly that it almost sent Lizzie into a panic. It seemed like the end was arriving too soon and she was trying to make it all last, to create the feelings and memories that were supposed to be important in a relationship. Friday night approached and school was over. Raymond was waiting for her in the house that evening with an elegant dinner on the table and a firm and comforting embrace, promising her a weekend for just the two of them, probably the last weekend they would share in the house together.

He'd promised her all of his attention. The entire weekend she had him to herself before her dad came home.

“If it was only up to me,” he’d said in the car the other day, leaning in to kiss her nose, “I'd take you to Paris and keep you in bed for the whole weekend.”

She didn't disbelieve him. He'd suggested before that she was an addiction and she had felt one or two stabs of concern at how intense their lovemaking could be. Was this normal? It was satisfying to be desired so much but she wondered uneasily if his enthusiasm was partially borne from the illicit nature of their relationship.

Sex with him was almost a frightening thrill. How could it not be when he was so experienced? She liked morning sex much better than any other time. Liked it because he was still half asleep, hard against the small of her back, nudging her, letting her know he wanted her, but not _too_ ferocious. He would take his time, his hands wandering over her body, fingers between her legs, rubbing her to the point of climax and it seemed as though he knew exactly when to withdraw his hands just before she couldn't take it anymore and he'd flip her onto her back, kissing her softly, his tongue brushing hers, his teeth nibbling on her bottom lip. He would hold himself back until she squirmed with heightened need. And only then would he guide himself between her legs, entering her inch by slow inch. She learned not to try and push for more because he liked to tease her. If she pressed herself up into him, he'd pull away.

“Uh uh,” he'd say, “trust me Lizzie, just wait.”

And it was excruciating and so good.

At night he was far more adventurous, even demanding. He bit instead of nibbled. He kissed her with enough force to take her breath away. At night he was like a man gasping and desperate for his next breath of air.

She lay under him now in the semi-dark, her face turned away slightly as he thrust into her, his pace almost violent in its intensity.

Gripping his back, her fingers dug into his shoulders. His skin was slick with sweat, and her hands slipped and scrabbled to keep a hold on him.

He slowed, changing his frantic pace, “Lizzie,” he panted with a fiendish grin, “pop your leg up on my shoulder.”

“Why?” She asked, confused.

“You'll see,” was his only response.

And she did, crooking her left leg over his shoulder. He thrust hard into her as soon as she repositioned herself.

“Oh my god,” was all she could choke out as shocking pleasure flared inside her.

He bore down on her again, an expression of satisfaction on his face. “Feels good?” He asked breathlessly.

“Please,” she squeaked.

“Yes baby, what do you want?”

“Oh god, please.” What was he asking her? She couldn't think. “Ray! Oh my god, please!”

He laughed, enjoying her pleasure. “Come on, Lizzie, come on, baby,” he growled, thrusting his hips harder and faster as he pressed his fingers into the flesh of her thigh, digging painfully.

Throwing her hands above her, Lizzie grasped at the bedhead, pushing herself forward, wanting him deeper inside of her, wanting more of the fizzing sensation in her brain as she felt him thrust into her, pushing at the very edges of pleasure.

“Do that again,” she begged, her skin flushed and tingling.

“This?” He asked innocently as he pulled his penis almost completely out of her and thrust back into her forcefully, clutching at her leg, still dangling over his shoulder.

Wordless, she could only nod at him, her eyes wide and desperate as he thrust again. She wiggled her hips up to him, her breath bursting raggedly from her, voice high and squeaky as she begged him for more.

They were just two bodies, twitching and shifting together in a sweaty tangle of limbs and quickened breath. Finally, it was becoming possible for her to let go and allow herself to mindlessly enjoy it, riding a tingling wave of sensation until she felt a swell of intensity. Muscles contracted, her limbs shook and before she knew what was happening, she'd emitted a sharp, shocking sound.

She stiffened in horror. He had only slowed down slightly at the sound but he caught the mortified expression on her face and he froze.

“It's okay Lizzie,” he said.

But it wasn't okay. _Oh god no_ , she thought, humiliation washing over her. Ashamed tears stung her eyes. She pushed away from him, gasping in embarrassment. She felt almost nauseous.

He pulled away from her completely, sitting back on his heels, his erection still bobbing in the air. “Lizzie, darling girl, it happens.”

She rolled over onto her side, looking away. Her face was so hot, she wanted to die. Had she...had she farted during _sex_?

Why didn't it feel like she'd had any control over it? It hadn't felt like a fart. It had felt like it was coming from…

“I'm sorry,” she said, wincing as he reached a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I must have eaten something...I mean, I guess I…”

He laughed and she flinched at the sound.

“Lizzie,” he said, lightness still in his voice. “Sometimes when two people are having sex, and it's getting...a bit exciting, air can get inside, just inside there,” he said, stroking her between her legs. “And it can make a noise. It's nothing to be embarrassed about.”

She turned over to face him, the tears spilling over her cheeks now. “Are you being serious? You're not just trying to make me feel better?”

He leaned forward, stretching an arm over her protectively. “I'll never lie to you, Lizzie. It's perfectly normal. And,” he said, leaning further forward and nuzzling her neck, “you are impossibly and gloriously innocent. You should be banned, darling.” He smirked at her, his eyes alight with glee and soft affection. She couldn't help a tentative smile in return.

“Okay, normal then,” she agreed, hesitantly playing with his chest hair, running her fingers through it slowly. “But I don't like it.”

“Well, we’ll try not to let it happen again then, hmm?” He smiled his slow smile. “We’re not finished yet, are we baby? You've got so much...more,” he said, kissing her mouth, “to give me.”

He probed her thighs apart with his knee, and she gladly welcomed him again, wrapping her legs around him.

 

* * *

 

 

Liz slouched over like any teenager, her legs tucked up under her on the chair and one elbow resting on the cherrywood desk. Her head was bent over her work, her smooth, dark hair falling forward over her face like a curtain. “I like your office, she said distractedly as she looked up to see him standing in the doorway. “I love the lighting. It’s so cozy, I could write for hours.”

He glanced around approvingly. The simplicity of the room was the secret of its charm. The coolness of the pale green walls and the feeling of added space given by the extra high ceiling did make it the perfect place for quiet reflection or thoughtful study.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said lightly. “This place is hired only for the short term. I just wanted to have something homelike to take you to.”

She stretched her arms over her head, rubbing her cramped shoulder as she gazed around the study, at the bookshelves that made this room more of a library than an office, realising at the same time that she’d been in the one position for hours. Through the curtained window she noticed that the sun had started getting low outside. “Oh! We wasted the whole day. I didn’t realise it was so late. Sorry,” she said regretfully.

He raised an eyebrow, coming further into the room. “I wouldn’t say wasted. I think we entertained each other quite well this morning, didn’t we?” He asked.

There it was again, that pleasant heat in her cheeks, her face warming at the thought of their morning. He'd woken her early considering it was a Saturday, and had kept her in bed for some time, pinning her down whenever she made a move to get up. It felt as though his desire grew in response to her wish to leave the bed. Every time she moved, she felt him hardening against her stomach and he would press his weight on her, spreading her legs and guiding himself inside of her again and again.

It had certainly been different. If she were completely honest...she had felt like a rabbit trapped in its burrow by a predator. Aside from the fact that he didn't want to eat her of course.

He leaned over her curiously. “What is it that you’re writing?”

“An essay on _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ ,” she said absently, glancing down at her work, twirling her pen in her hand.

He leaned over her further, slipping his arms around her, catching a glimpse of her writing. He scanned the page for a moment. “Art for art’s sake, hmm, good notion,” he said, nodding at her. “Have a look at aestheticism. You'll find some helpful reading about the cult of beauty. You may also want to know that you’re overusing the comma,” he said playfully.

Liz scowled, turning to look at him. “How about you write it then,” she said resentfully. She'd  been working on the damn thing all afternoon, going over and over the book until it felt like there would be no forgetting the sliminess that the titular character left her feeling.

His expression brightened. “I could help you. I can review it once you’re done.”

His face dimmed again at the uncertainty in her eyes. “I _was_ valedictorian,” he said haughtily. “I haven’t forgotten everything, you know.”

“You want to help me...with my homework?” She inquired hesitantly.

“Why not?” He asked, smiling back at her gaily. “I’m the smartest man in the room most days. Might as well use my powers for good.”

“Oh...kay.”

“Besides,” he said, giving her a darkly lascivious look and sweeping her hair aside to kiss her neck, “the sooner you’re finished, the sooner you’re available to _me_.”

The usual thrill that would lance through her when he promised her his attentions was twisted with a tight, sick feeling in her belly this time. She had no idea why. It was so strange.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's tough to stay objective, baby  
> With your tongue abseiling down my neck  
> It's a bulletproof offer I can't accept  
> It's tough to maintain focus, baby  
> Now all my elephants are in the room  
> We crave the fiction when we need the truth  
> ~ "Emoticons, The Wombats"

* * *

 

Alison was the first out of the car, eagerly throwing the back passenger door open and scrambling out into the grassy field that was a temporary parking lot for the carnival patrons. “Carnivals at night are so much more fun than daytime ones,” said Alison, smiling at Lizzie as she got out of the front seat.

  
The wind was blowing in gusts and had a slight chill. Not enough to require a sweater, just enough to cause a momentary shiver. Lizzie's gaze was drawn down the hill to where the bright lights and carnival sounds filtered through the night. “They are. It looks awesome,” she said, feeling a flutter in her belly. The pink and yellow lights from the ferris wheel glittered in invitation, the large wheel standing head and shoulders over all of the other attractions and rides in the field. It was easily the largest ride at the fair.

  
The two girls grinned at each other. Alison’s eyes were sparkling in response to the glee in Lizzie’s own. It had been ages since she'd been to a carnival and the last time she'd gone, it was with her dad when she was in elementary school. She did a few brief stretches, attempting to work out her restless energy as she waited with Alison beside the car for the boys to join them. It had been so long since she’d had pure uncomplicated fun that she felt giddy, her stomach a coil of complicated feelings and nerves.

  
Matt and Rob came around the other side of the beat up old car. Lizzie could tell that the senior boy was looking at her out of the corner of her eye. She focused on pretending that she hadn't noticed his glances. _He definitely thinks this is a date_ , she realized with an uncomfortable pang of guilt which she pushed firmly aside. It wasn't _her_ fault that he liked her. Alison had told him that it wasn’t a date and that she wasn't interested in going out with anyone, so if he still had feelings for her, it was his own problem.

  
“Let's go,” squealed Alison, grabbing Rob’s hand and wildly careening down the hill. It was a steep enough slope that if you ran fast from the top, you almost felt as if you were flying.

  
“C’mon,” said Matt with a grin. “We can beat them.” He grabbed her hand without waiting for a response and ran her down the hill, determined to reach the bottom before Alison and Rob did.

  
“Beat you even with a head start,” grinned Matt, panting heavily, his competitiveness coming to the fore. He raised a hand to high five her. “It helps having a natural athlete on your team, huh,” he said.

  
Lizzie grinned back at him. She was surprised to realise that she kind of liked pretending that it was a date. When she thought more, it made her feel...special to be able to openly bask in the attention of a guy, rather than having to keep it a secret. Strange feelings crawled through her chest rapidly, feelings that she could barely identify and wasn't sure she wanted to.

  
Some she knew. Guilt being the foremost among them.

  
Matt looked as though he was about to say more but was cut off by Rob's loud exclamation.

  
“The ring toss booth! Alison, I’ll win you something!”

  
Lizzie watched as her friends rushed off to try their luck. Idly looking around, she noticed that the carnival appeared to be haphazardly organized, with small rides dotting the field and rows of food stalls, games and stages all strung out into their own twisting lanes. The blaring sound of pop songs, loud voices raised in advertisement of rides and food, bright lights and the smell of buttery popcorn and cotton candy was so distracting that she wasn't prepared when Matt slipped his hand into hers in the midst of the pressing crowd. He threaded his fingers through her own, his eyes trained on Rob who was taking his turn at the booth.

  
She said nothing, unsure if she wanted to be sick or was just experiencing butterflies; and if it was butterflies, why should she be feeling this way? He was just a friend of a friend. She should take her hand out of his now. Would that be rude though? Had she been flirty? She knew that she wasn't responsible for how he felt but somehow, her guilt wouldn't go away. It was hard to say no.

  
Lizzie stood back a few steps, just watching, still very conscious that her fingers were entwined through a boy's. She felt his sweaty palm against her skin and was reminded with a discomfiting jolt that Raymond’s hands were never sweaty, that he always smelled wonderful, clean and fresh, with an occasional whiff of expensive cigars.

  
“Oh finally,” complained Rob as he managed to score, turning to give Alison a brief grin.

  
Rob's jubilation bought Liz back to the present and she used the opportunity to pull away from Matt, clapping her hands for her friend’s success.

  
“Want me to try?” Asked Matt hopefully.

  
She pretended she was intensely interested in a booth next door that was selling balloon animals. “Uh, no,” she said vaguely, moving over to examine the balloons stuck on sticks in a rack, ordered by color and coming in all shapes and sizes.

  
“You want a balloon puppy?” Boomed an unshaven man with a mole on his cheek from behind his booth. He gestured hopefully at his work. “I can do an elephant, too, or a flamingo?”

  
“No that's okay,” said Liz quickly, taking a step back.

  
“Yeah, let's get a parrot,” said Matt, over her voice. “One of those please,” he said eagerly, pointing to the pink and green balloon animal. He handed it to her gravely after paying. “For you, mademoiselle,” he said in a faux French accent, clearly a nervous attempt to make her laugh. It made her giggle reluctantly, her stomach giving a surprising whoosh as if she were in an elevator.

  
“Thanks,” she said, almost annoyed at him for making her feel this way. It wasn't his fault though, so she took the balloon with a tight smile, careful not to flinch away as her fingers tangled with his while he handed over the blue ribbon tied to her balloon.

  
“So do you want to go see the haunted house?”

 

* * *

 

  
The haunted house was a tradition to the local area. It had started off as a creepy shack back in their parents youth. Each year, the carnival grew bigger and bigger, the haunted house growing with it. One year they added a tunnel with a small track and placed small electric carts inside doing a loop of the tunnel, slowing down at the halfway point to give a fright to their occupants.

  
There had been an awkward silence after Matt had asked Liz to come to the haunted house with him. Liz got the feeling that Matt was the only one in this group that wasn't acutely aware that this _wasn't_ a date. Alison and Rob had recovered seconds later and fallen over themselves in their eagerness to accompany them, clearly hoping to defuse any amorous ambiance in the darkened tunnels of the haunted house.

  
Matt hadn't caught the hint yet.

  
Liz jerked back in the cart she was sitting in, recoiling from a mummy wrapped in stiff cream cloth, standing over them moaning theatrically in the semi-dark, earning a snort from all four teens. But Liz was starting to feel short of breath despite the lack of truly frightening spectres in the tunnel. The walls seemed to press in on her, and the air in her lungs felt suddenly quite cold and it was more and more difficult to draw a deep breath.

  
“Are you okay?” Murmured Matt’s voice in her ear.

  
She nodded, smiling tightly up at him, realizing belatedly that he could barely see her. “I'm fine, just a bit claustrophobic. I don't like being in dark and cramped spaces.”

  
“You should have told me,” Matt said, a note of reproach in his voice.

  
“It's okay,” said Liz quickly, taking shallow breaths. The tunnel was well ventilated but it didn't matter. She still felt as though the air was thickening with smoke. Her heart hammered and tension built steadily in her neck and shoulders only to melt away moments later as their cart sailed through the tight tunnel exit and into the bright artificial lights and wide open night carnival.

  
It was a relief. Small dark spaces could still affect her badly. Half remembered glimpses of a fire burst into her head and the faint memory of being carried in the arms of a man stirred.

  
“Why don't we do something completely opposite of the haunted house then?” Asked Alison brightly, “let's go check out the Ferris wheel.”

  
They trudged along, meandering past the dodgem cars, the line of people waiting to test their strength at the High Striker and a procession of clowns and acrobats on stilts. The foursome paused to give way to passing performers, as their stilts took them in great strides forward, juggling colorful leather balls as they walked.

  
“Let me,” said Matt, brushing away her hand as she reached to plunk her coins down on the counter for her ticket. He dropped a five dollar bill onto the counter. “One ride for two please,” he asked the man behind the screen.

  
The man looked through Matt, taking his money and exchanging it for their tickets, a bored look on his grizzled face as he stared off into the distance.

  
“Er, thanks.”

  
“Next,” bellowed the man, not taking any notice of Matt.

  
Liz and Matt rolled their eyes at each other, Matt snorted and she couldn't help giggling a little at the unfriendly man. It was fun to laugh over silly stuff like this. Matt wasn't the brightest guy but he had a sense of humor. She liked him as a friend and hoped he was going to remain one after he got it through his head that she wasn't going to date him.

  
“After you,” Matt said awkwardly, one hand on the swinging gate that led through to the platform where they would step onto their ride, his other hand ushering her through, brushing the small of her back with studied casualness as he followed her.

  
The two of them waited near the base where a speaker boomed loud music. It was too noisy for conversation so they stood side by side together, waiting for Alison and Matt to join them. After a moment, Liz looked around at the ticket booth, wondering what the delay was.

  
“Hey Matt, you'll have to go on ahead,” yelled Rob across the crowd as he caught their eye. “Alison’s lost an earring.”

  
“Sure, okay,” Matt replied, giving her a quick glance as if to check that she was fine with it.

  
Rob had already turned to help Alison, his head bent as he scanned the ground for an earring. Liz knew exactly the ones her best friend had been wearing. They were a gift from her parents, an exquisite pair of handmade silver crescent moons purchased while her parents had been on vacation in Mexico and Liz knew how much Alison loved them.

  
Her first impulse was to go back and help search but just standing there for a few moments had caused a buildup of people behind them and some had started to push past her pointedly. With a guilty backwards glance at her friend she shrugged and followed Matt to their seats on the ride.

  
“Keep yer hands and feet inside the ride,” hollered a short, weedy looking man next to her ear as a leaned over them both, his bad breath blowing putrid across her face as he reached forward, pulling the protective metal bar across their laps. Craning her head past Matt's broad shoulders, Liz sought out her friends at the gate, disappointed to see that they were still on the ground in front of the ticket booth, heads together, searching for the lost earring.

  
A whistle blew.

  
The ride began to move. Slowly at first, just enough for the people behind them to get on. Liz twisted on the hard wooden seat, her eyes still on Alison, bent down on the ground, moving away, becoming smaller and smaller as the wheel turned, taking on a few more passengers before they started going faster without stopping.

  
“You can see the whole world from here,” she said, looking out towards the cloudy sky, searching intently for stars. Raymond had taken her out the previous night in his jet. He had wanted to show her the constellations and they'd spent an evening eating a picnic meal on a rooftop who knows where, just poring over star maps that he'd had tucked under his arm. She never even asked where they were, following him blindly as he took her from jet to car, to a hilltop in the middle of nowhere, entering a mediterranean style mansion as if he owned it, ushering her onto the rooftop and thoroughly sweeping her off her feet.

  
She sighed. He had a penchant for star gazing and she had a curious mind so they fit so well, he sharing his passions, her soaking it up like a starving animal. If she closed her eyes, she could still feel his breath in her hair as they sat together on the rooftop, half reclined against a cement pylon, with the remains of their picnic meal scattered around them.

  
“Liz? Earth to Liz?”

  
Matt’s plaintive voice brought her abruptly back to the present. “I got lost in my head,” she said apologetically. “I was totally zoned out. What were you saying?”

  
“Ah,” he said, flustered and looking very sweaty.

  
There was enough wind to jostle their car, moving them back and forth alarmingly, stopping Matt mid sentence. A large gust hit them so unexpectedly that Lizzie reached unthinkingly to grip at Matt’s arm, his hand, anything really. She just wanted to hold onto something solid but all of a sudden, her grip on his forearm had become his arms around her waist, his thigh pressing into hers. He leaned forward, his face looming in her vision.

  
“Liz, you're so pretty,” he said, his voice squeaking on her name.

  
He leaned further forward and pressed his mouth to hers, a clumsy kiss, but still a nice kiss. Her heart was beating fast already from the surprise of their car swinging so wildly in the gust of wind, but when he kissed her, all of a sudden, she could actually hear her heartbeat thundering in her ears and her skin had turned prickly and hot, there was a strange flush spreading from her neck and cheeks and she wasn't so sure what she wanted anymore.

  
Matt pulled back from the kiss, grinning at her goofily, raising a hand to push back her hair, flying wildly about her face in the wind. Then he bent his head again to hers.

  
She pulled back.

  
Time slowed down for just a moment. Or at least it seemed to. How horrifying to have let him kiss her, to appear to have liked it and now she looked like she was being a tease.

  
Time resumed its usual pace. Liz screwed her face up in horror. She had a boyfriend. And she was so confused. She didn't like Matt the way he liked her and couldn't understand why she'd let herself return the kiss.

  
“I thought Alison told you I was dating someone,” she said uncomfortably. “I mean, like, you're really cool and everything but I just...uh…”

  
“It's okay,” he said, his nose and cheeks going a fiery red, “I did know. I guess I was just hoping it wasn't um...well you know...like a serious thing.”

  
“Oh,” said Liz hollowly, a fierce ache spreading out from the centre of her chest. She was so serious about Raymond and she had no way of expressing it, even to him. She was steered expertly away from saying the words every time that they were on the end of her tongue often enough, that she had a clear understanding by now - the words I love you, were unwelcome.

  
“I’m sorry, Liz,” Matt said, brushing a hand through his hair. He sat stiffly in his seat. “You’re not mad are you?”

  
“Nah, it's okay,” she said with a lightness she did not feel. The amount of stuff that had happened in the one night was enough to fill half a dozen pages in her journal, she reflected with a touch of regret. She had a feeling she was going to have to write every single thing out before she could get her emotions in order and make some sense of them.

  
One thing was clear. Having a secret like Raymond was just getting more and more complicated.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbearable thought that my love could not hold you  
> Here comes the silence, here comes the quiet  
> Unbearable ache, to feel that I’ve lost you  
> How can my soul be satisfied?  
> Oh how can my soul be satisfied?  
> ~ "Share Your Air, Kate Miller Heidke Ft Passenger"

* * *

 

There was a car in the driveway. Her dad's truck, the familiar blue and white decal of his security company on the doors were a beautiful sight to her eyes.

  
“Dad! I'm home!” She slammed the front door shut without thinking in her eagerness to see her dad’s face again. Standing expectantly for half a second in the hallway, her school bag dangling from her arm she felt huge relief when her dad popped his head out of the kitchen. He grinned at her despite the yellowing shadows under his eyes making him look far older than his years.

  
“Hey butterball,” he said gruffly. “Come here.”

  
She launched herself into his arms, fighting back tears. She'd just come home from two weeks away in a luxury mansion with an older lover. She'd been spoilt and safe.There was no need to cry.

  
But she was.

  
“Hey, hey, chook, what's been going on?” Her dad asked, his voice soft with concern as he disentangled her arms from around his neck. He looked down at her, a crease between his eyebrows. “I'm sorry I was gone so long. How've you been managing Lizzie?”

  
Sniffling and laughing at herself, she gave him all the news.

  
“I got an A on a math test,” she volunteered, “and we need to go grocery shopping. I've been...out a lot.”

  
“Yeah,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I noticed there's nothing in the fridge so I ordered pizza. But where have you been? Your bed doesn't look like it's been slept in recently. You can clean your room by the way,” he said, but without much conviction. He rarely succeeded in getting her to vacuum.

  
“I've just been hanging with Alison,” she said vaguely. She had to think fast. Raymond had left, he’d taken his jet out on the Friday night before the carnival. He had insisted she stay in their temporary haven, waited on by a housekeeper and a chauffeur until she was dropped off at Alison’s front door hours before the carnival. She hadn't been home since the day Raymond had taken her and her suitcase away with him and she was realizing the foolishness of that now. Of course her dad would notice her bed hadn't recently been slept in and there were no signs of dishes piling up in the sink or laundry to be washed and folded.“I mean, I've been home, but I'm also out a lot, staying at Alison’s and you know, just hanging out at the mall.” Her stomach tightened at the lie, but she kept on chattering to hide where she'd been and who she'd been there with.

  
Her heart hurt.

 

* * *

 

  
Alone in her bedroom that evening, in the dim light of her bedside lamp, Liz sat back against her pillow with her journal resting on her knee. It hadn't been too hard to distract her dad. There was so much to talk about after all. Harry was doing well. He was still in considerable pain but had just started weight bearing and his next goal was walking again.

  
She wanted to write about her cousin instead of her love life and knew that her diary was getting repetitive but Raymond continued to weigh heavily on her, a delicious and painful secret all at the same time and just then, her pen was flowing, writing out some of the things that were starting to claw at her edges.

  
_Dear Diary,_

  
_Am I a cheater? I can't decide if what happened last night makes me one or if it was Matt’s fault. I’m almost frightened of telling Ray and when I think about why, I can’t put my finger on it. He would never hurt me. But I guess he could break_ _up with me._

  
As soon as the words were written, she stared down at the blue ink on the page, panic seizing her by the throat as her own words stood out starkly.

  
“No, no, no,” she murmured to herself, tearing out the page in distress at the thought of Raymond leaving her, taking with him all of his mystery and sensuality...and his intense regard for her.

  
_The truth is_ , she began again on a fresh page, _I don't know if he loves me. I love him so much and I just can't take it anymore. I feel like half a person keeping a secret as big as this. I can't even tell my best friend that I’m worried my boyfriend will leave me._

  
Liz closed her eyes, resting her head against the wall. The wallpaper was cool on her cheek and distracted her from thoughts that were quickly getting more and more jumbled and distressing.

  
Her worrying seemed to overflow and she blinked in surprise as fat tears began to drip down her cheeks. The diary fell onto the bed, forgotten as she slumped forward, hunched over and huddled into her blankets.

  
An irrational desire to run away rose in her. For what purpose, she couldn't have explained.

  
_What's going on with me?_ She thought wildly. _I don't want to run away. I just...I just…_

  
She didn't know.

  
“I wish you'd stay,” she said softly, testing the silence of the house. It was dark and lonely and her dad was all the way down the hall. The meagre light from her lamp only served to make the shadows seem darker. It was silly to talk to herself but there wasn't anyone else she was allowed to talk to.

  
What had she meant though? She wanted Raymond to stay in town, to stop leaving so suddenly, to bring some predictability to their relationship. Maybe most of all, she wanted to believe that he loved her enough to stay.

  
At the back of her mind lurked a familiar feeling.

  
Her mother had left her.

  
The thought was heavy, settling on her shoulders like a cloak, weighing her down. It made her chest ache with a longing that came and went occasionally. She’d never named it, never told her dad about it. If she hadn't read books about orphans growing up, she'd probably have believed herself to be the only person in the world who felt this way.

  
Her dad would read to her under the blanket fort they made together in her bedroom. _The Wizard of Oz_ was her favourite of course. How easy was it to identify with Dorothy Gale? A girl without parents, loved by her aunt and uncle but still searching for home.

  
Her mother had _left_ her.

  
Her head sank onto the pillow and she crushed her face into its cool softness, sobbing quietly into the early hours of the morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “If you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you - you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing is ever going to happen again.”   
> ― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

The hard boiled eggs on Liz’s plate went mostly uneaten the next morning. It was strange to have her dad moving around the old kitchen again, fixing breakfast for both of them before she took the bus to school and he took his truck into work. She slumped over her eggs, her eyes swollen and tired from crying, her head was aching, and she felt hollow, like she’d poured everything inside of her, all of her fear, sadness and longing into her pillow during the night and now there was nothing substantial left of her.

“Dad, I don't feel so hungry,” she said flatly, pushing away the plate in front of her. It wasn't that she couldn't eat. It was just that she wasn’t certain she’d keep it down. Her stomach churned with an unsettling mix of nausea and the odd hunger pang. She stood slowly, feeling as though there were weights tied to her feet and shoulders, making every movement seem as if it required extra effort. “I think I'm gonna take the early bus into school. I need to catch up with Alison,” she said, grasping one hand with the other and digging her fingernails into her palm.

“Well, okay,” her dad said, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder and glancing at her with a penetrating look, searching her face intently from the kitchen sink. “You go along to to school then Butterball. I'll finish the dishes.”

She left the kitchen, taking her queasiness and a discomforting twist of regret with her. It was awful, lying to her dad, making him think she’d been alone the whole time he'd been away. It wasn't necessary to glance behind her to know her dad would still be studying her in concern. He knew something was up. She was just thankful that he was clearly assuming that his being away from home for weeks had upset her.

Ten minutes later she was sliding into a seat toward the back of the bus. She unzipped her backpack and rummaged around for her diary, pulling it out and opening it to the past few entries, listlessly scanning her private thoughts over the past few weeks.

“Dear Diary,” she mouthed to herself, only just breathing the words she’d written, flicking from page to page, “Raymond, Raymond, Raymond and oh surprise, more Raymond.”

Closing her eyes for a moment, she took a long, deep breath, exhaling in a shaky and loud whoosh. She opened her eyes again and glanced down towards the entry she had just examined. It was about a sweet moment the previous week when Raymond had been stroking her hair as they lay in bed together, his arms around her and his legs intertwined with hers. They’d been having a conversation about a business trip he’d been on in Japan last summer. A modern art exhibition had been described vividly, he’d painted a picture of the places he would take her to when she was older, the sights he wanted to share with her. She was so occupied with the memory that the entry had invoked that she failed to notice the occupant of the seat behind her, another student from her school leaning forward, greedily scanned the diary not meant for her eyes over her shoulder. At her stop, Liz carelessly stuffed her diary into a side pocket of her bag and scooted across the seat, waving at the driver as she exited the bus. She didn’t look around, dawdling slowly toward school, her backpack slung over her shoulder.

If she’d looked back, she would have seen her former friend Tricia trailing her by a few paces, surreptitiously pocketing a small book with a shiny cover that she would have immediately recognised and demanded the return of.

But she didn't, passing through the front gates of her high school and drifting towards her locker, her head and heart full of her boyfriend and her problems.

 

* * *

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Liz looked up from her lunch. She’d decided to avoid the cafeteria, eating her sandwich by herself in a disused corridor, still struggling for the right decision to make about telling Raymond what had happened at the carnival. Joining her friends for lunch had been ruled out earlier in the day. Who knew if Matt had told Rob and Alison about what had happened?

Her mouth was full of a half chewed sandwich. She swallowed painfully, the lump of bread travelling down her throat at a snail's pace. “I...kissed Matt,” she said, her voice cracking in anxiety. She swallowed again, her lunch feeling as though it had stuck in her throat halfway down. “God, I have a boyfriend Alison.”

Her friend sighed and slumped down onto the floor next to her, where she was sitting cross legged, her back up against the wall. She had her Math homework open in her lap but wasn't getting through it very fast, her thoughts continually brought unpleasantly back to the kiss.

And what she was going to do about it.

 ‘The way I heard it,” Alison said guardedly, “Matt kissed you and you kissed him back. He was a little bit annoyed with you actually…said to Rob that he thought you led him on”

Indignation flared in her chest on hearing that. _How dared he?_ When he'd been told that she was dating someone, and she'd never said or done anything to make him think she liked him.

Except kiss him back.

Stuffing the remains of her lunch and her Math homework into her bag, she uncrossed her legs and stood, looking down at Alison. “I didn’t expect him to kiss me and I _did_ tell him and you guys that I was seeing someone so…”

“Okay,” Alison said with a cocked eyebrow. “I’ll tell Rob to tell Matt to keep his trap shut. I believe you Liz...It’s just that you’re keeping stuff from me and I don’t like it. I…”, she took a deep breath and blew out her cheeks, “I don’t want things with you and me to be all screwed up again like they were…”

“Before,” echoed Liz miserably. “I know. There is stuff I can’t talk to anyone about just right now but I’m trying. It’s nothing to do with you Alison, I promise.”

It was Alison’s turn to stand up. She hugged Liz briefly. “Alright. You can talk to me whenever you’re ready.” She sighed again, her expression flickering between rueful affection and slight annoyance. “Just don’t turn back into a mean girl. Those days were the worst.”

“I know,” Liz agreed readily. Her problems were so much bigger than Alison imagined. It was almost as if she’d prefer to be caught by the cops again, waiting for her father to come get her from the station than be in the situation she was now.

She felt like a worm on a hook. Tortured and stuck. She hated lying, yet it seemed that was all she did lately. When would it stop? Could she tell one more lie? To Raymond? A lie of omission? A sick flutter in the pit of her stomach told her that lying to Raymond, even by omission would be completely different from lying to her friends and her dad.

Could she - should she do it?

 

 

* * *

 

  
A soft, comforting glow filled her vision. Liz couldn't say where she was and strangely, she didn't care.

Taking in her surroundings, she was puzzled that there appeared to be no entrance or exit to the room, only walls of smooth white, a gentle glow emanating from everywhere she looked. Only then did she glance down and realised in surprise that she held a large rock nestled in her arms like a newborn child. It weighed a great deal and already her arms were trembling with fatigue. The thump of her heartbeat seemed to be audible to her ears, a regular tempo, her heart pushing blood through her body.

 _Throb_.

A sound rebounding around the room.

_Throb._

Pulsing in her ears and growing louder as the rock grew heavier.

_Throb._

_I need to put it down._

The thought occurred to her but she made no move to release her burden.

_Why don’t I put it down?_

Well, why didn’t she? There wasn’t any reason to hold onto such a heavy and useless thing. But her muscles refused to relax, to work the way her mind was urging her to. She held the rock to her chest, stubbornly wrapping her arms tightly about it. She should put it down. It was hurting her to hold it but her body refused to cooperate.

The room went dark.

Then she fell.

And fell and fell.

“Lizzie, hey, _Lizzie_.”

“What?”

Her eyes flicked wide open and she was in her bed, the lamp on her nightstand giving off enough light for her to see her dad crouched by her, his forehead furrowed in concern and his arm thrown across her. The bedclothes were tangled around her legs and her pillow was damp with sweat.

“You had a bad dream Butterball. Haven't had one of those in a while, huh?”

“My arms,” she gasped, a hand resting against the pulse throbbing in her neck. “So sore.”

Her dad looked down on her in confusion as he hauled himself up off of his knees. He gave her clock radio a glance, his eyes then swiveling back to her, the corners of his mouth lifting in a reassuring smile. “You were hollering well enough to wake the neighbours new puppy. He thought he’d have a howl right along with you.”

Liz tilted her head back, only just then noticing the excited yapping of the terrier pup next door.

“Why don’t you come downstairs and i’ll make us some cocoa. How ‘bout that eh?”

She smiled gratefully and untangled herself from the twisted sheets, giving her dad’s arm a hard squeeze in passing.

“Cocoa sounds great dad,” she said hoarsely, her throat scratchy from her screams.

Following him out of the room on shaky legs, Liz’s mind whipped back to her dream. She had never had a dream like that. In all of the nightmares that she had since she could remember, she was suffocating, flames licking their way up her arms and legs, smoke so thick in the air that it appeared to be tangible, a monster with a sentient, malevolent mind and it was coming for her, alive and angry and...hungry.

A short time later she sat in the kitchen with her dad, a mug of hot cocoa in her hands, her heart rate slowed down again and her eyelids blinking rapidly over eyes that felt gritty with lack of sleep. Her thoughts were skittering and half formed. The rock had been just a rock. Why had it unsettled her so much? It was nothing like The Dream. The one she thought of in capitals. She rarely had The Dream about the night of the fire these days but there was a time in years past that she had woken screaming, sightless in terror almost every other night. A time when her dad had held her and hummed her lullaby until she fell asleep.

This was different.

“Dad?”

He looked up from his own cup of cocoa, his eyes bleary. A pang of guilt smote her. Her dad was tired. He’d spent weeks as a dogsbody for his sister’s family and had come home only to find her a mess. No sleep or peace for him.

“Honey?”

“I...okay, so there’s this guy-”

“Oho! We’re there already are we? Should I take out the shotgun?” He grinned at her, a trace of anxiety in his eyes belying his light words.

Shaking her head in annoyance, she glanced down into her empty mug. When had she finished it?

“What is it Lizzie?” His voice was gentle now, sober again. He was listening.

Taking a big breath, filling her cheeks with air and blowing it out slowly, she stared back at him, summoning the guts to talk to her dad about it. He gave excellent advice most of the time. She should just ask.

“Okay so...there’s this guy-”

“This friend of Alison’s you've mentioned?”

She swallowed. “Not exactly. See, I told him we were exclusive and then Matt, like you said, Alison’s friend...Matt...he kinda kissed me and I don't know if I should tell him and I don’t know why I kissed him back. It’s not like I like him, you know?”

Slowly as she spoke, her dad’s eyes were widening and his forehead puckered in bewilderment. He shook his head slowly. “No...no I don’t know butterball. What’s been happening? Who did you kiss? Matt? Who is this other fellow?”

“Just a guy,” she said, waving her hand impatiently. “That’s not the point. Should I tell him or not? I’ve felt so guilty and he's so good at seeing through me. He’ll know something is wrong.

“Well,” he meditated, his mouth twitching _almost_ like he thought her predicament was funny. “I always say honesty is the best policy. If you like this young man, and you told him you were exclusive - what does that mean these days by the way? I hope you’re no-”

“La la la,” she said quickly, her hands over her ears. “I’m not talking about the birds and the bees tonight dad. I don’t need to. We covered it with the school nurse last year.”

“I’ve always said-” he persisted, a stubborn frown on his face.”

“DAD.”

“Alright, alright,” he sighed. Shifting uncomfortably on the chair, his eyes met hers. “I hope you’re not doing anything stupid, Elizabeth,” he said in his no nonsense voice. “I don’t want to be a grandfather just yet.”

“Ew,” she screwed her nose up in distaste. “I’m fine dad. It was just a kiss. Stop being so melodramatic.”

He cleared his throat and gave her one of his looks and sighed, removing her empty mug and his, silently crossing to the kitchen, depositing them in the sink. Turning to face her again he said, “You’re a truthful girl Lizzie, with a good heart. You’ll manage. Now, bed.” He gestured firmly for her to stand up and she did, shuffling back to her bedroom to attempt sleep once more.

 ___________________________________________________________________

  
“...and then he kissed me,” said Liz miserably, her shoulders stooped and her head bent as she sat in the booth facing Raymond, trying to make herself as small as possible while telling him everything.

Now that she was recounting her actions aloud, she felt exposed, as though she really had cheated. Was that cheating? It was still unclear. Had she wanted Matt to kiss her like that with no warning?

Only after his hand had slipped under her shirt had her brain kicked in and she'd pushed away from him, moving her hips so that there had been a small gap between them on the Ferris wheel seat as it swung from side to side in the wind.

Looking up at Raymond now, a stab of hope filled her. She'd been prepared for him to coldly reject her as inconsistent. Only he wasn't looking upset at all. He merely slanted her a knowing look and sat back, folding his arms, arching an eyebrow, looking completely unruffled.

She’d asked him to take her to some place private where they could talk as soon as she’d slipped into his car that afternoon. He’d obliged with a small cafe a few towns over. They sat together in a booth towards the back, he’d ordered an unsweetened iced tea for himself and a malted milkshake for her.

“I didn't expect anything less.”

That stopped the explanations that were ready on her lips. “Wait, you thought that he was going to try and kiss me? You haven't even met him.” She frowned with disbelief.

“I don't need to. I know the type. Good kid, perhaps a little spoiled at home. Hormones are going positively bonkers and there's a sweet girl,” he said, his eyes darkly focused on her, “all it takes is a pretty blue eyed girl and they're at the mercy of every foolish thought or urge they've ever had.”

“Um,” said Liz, her throat parched of moisture. She was staring into his eyes, wondering at his unexpected reaction.

“Boys like to kiss girls, Lizzie,” Raymond crooned, his tone indicating he felt no threat from the kiss that Matt had stolen. “They like to touch them,” he said suggestively, slipping a hand casually around her waist, drawing her in closer to him. Pressed up between him, and the wall, her pulse began to race and a familiar heat blossomed from her chest and warmed her cheeks.

  
She shifted, twisting to look at him again, her eyes flashing to his searchingly. “You aren’t mad?”

He chuckled and kissed her forehead affectionately. “I never said that.” He scanned the cafe. It didn’t seem to Liz that he ever relaxed in public. His body against hers wasn’t soft, it was ready to leap at any second, ready for anything. Despite that, he squeezed her closer to him and smiled wickedly. “You can make it up to me with your time, sweetheart. That photographer I mentioned. I want those pictures. Will you do it?”

“Yeah,” she said, relieved that he was being so cool. And glowing with inward delight at the thought that he wanted a professional photographer to take pictures of her.

 

 


End file.
